I'm still reliving my Friday spent sitting in a leather wingback smoking a Macanudo and talking to an Arabian math teacher about the underlying similarities across various root languages and beers with Dave, fully manned-out, 3-day beard and leather brim cabelas cap representing.
Dave and I turned in our book last week and we definitely deserved a smoke. I enjoyed a Hoya de Monterrey vacuum stored aged Partaga first a couple of hours before the Macanudo event, the boys in the council circle of old retired guys laid out a table full of grilled custom butchered bratwurst and other stuff I didn't recognize. Unfortunately, I'd just loaded up on crab cakes, spiced fries, and Newcastlesat Village Inn.
I spent the day talking to Dave about how to market the book and wishing I had snoot full of scotch. Then the Arabian math teacher showed up and we got into a long lively discussion about imprecision in the English language and how there are similarities in grammar at the root of most similar languages, you know, guy talk. Then a local songwriter stopped by and played me one of her songs on her iPhone while she knocked back an Olivia Serie G and talked guitars with Big Lee.
I finally had to pry myself out of the wingback and finish off the very tail end of my last Macanudo and looked around that the animal heads on the wall, the thousand dollar humidors, the Mont Blanc displays and the dual 50 inch wide TVs dedicated to news and sports and wondered why the hell I didn't live there.
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