Lost in Translation...

Went out tonight.

It was a long day at work- won't describe it because that one's mine.

So I went out and did one of the things I love most.

I went out for a beer and ran solo.

Now to my defense to what some of you are thinking I've got to say that this is the first time I explored the nearby nightlife on my own.  Mas o menos.

So yeah, went out for a beer at one of the local bars down the street.  Now keep in mind this was one of the local bars just across the street from the ocean.  A cool breeze, plenty of laughter, safe enough, and just right.

It's a tough life, but someone's got to do it right?

So I went out and had a few beers, practiced my Spanish a bit with the bartender and enjoyed myself.  And not to excess mind you- I do have to work tomorrow (of course my idea of excess is looking out at the ocean and wondering that if it was beer and good drink that maybe... just maybe, I possibly could drink almost all of it and ... aaaahhh you get the point.)

So there I was solo and content and decided it was time to return home.

On my way back home I came across a guy who asked me for a cigarette and light.  I obliged naturally and cautiously started talking to him. (Although this is one of the safest areas a guy can be- street smarts are a must here and you've got to be on the ball.)

So we were talking and I was trying my hardest to understand his Spanish. It was tougher than normal.

Damn this sucks, I must have a good buzz because I can't understand what the hell he's telling me.

I tried to listen some more, spoke as carefully as I could, guessed upon his Spanish accent and where he was from and still there was a massive communication problelm.

And that's when it hit me.

This dude is wasted!

Seriously, what language are we speaking?

And not only that I suddenly realized he was bat-shit crazy to boot.

Fuck, what can I say.  It's hard enough to figure out this mile a second language without having to decipher whether or not the person is completely fucking loco.

Luckily I've had my fair shair of experiences with such things.

Mainly being myself and my own confident sense of slurring.

It all makes sense up here,  as I often say and point to my head.

You guys know.

So I talked with him, shared a laugh, and skiddadled on.

And I loved every minute of it thinking...

Cutter?

You're crazy, I'm crazy, we're all crazy!

(Cary Grant? Gunga Din. Sayre/Guiol. George Stevens)

And so goes the world.

Pic from Mustard Gas and Catnip.