On Saturday one of my friends invited me to watch the Stanley Cup Finals and get some chicken wings. I accepted, not cuz I give two hoots about professional hockey (I quit caring about pro sports when I realized that the number one draft pick was younger than me) but cuz a coupla beers and a game is a pleasant way to pass an afternoon. I found a reason to root for the Devils; most Los Angelenos are unaware that they have a hockey team so Jersey should have way better riots if they win, or lose for that matter.
Anywho, I met the gang at Ocean's. As soon as I sat down, the bartendress set a round of shots in front of us. I asked her what it was and she said, "A roofi-rita, from those guys." Now roofi and rita are words one expects to hear at a bar full of frat boys on spring break. I guess this place is perpetual spring break. I looked over to see who to thank for the shot, I saw two grizzled old men and a young kid. I recognized them but couldn't place the faces.
"That's Tower," one of the others informed me. "Hey which one of you was flying 74805 yesterday?" Denials all around. "Why do you ask?" "That woman with the Spanish accent sounds delicious." "It's Brazilian, and she isn't." "Aww man, don't tell us that. Lie to us. All we gots to do all day is fantasize about the voices on the radio and you go and ruin it."
Such a wonderful sort of haunting.
4 hours ago