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Party like a rock star

Published: Friday, Nov. 8, 2013 5:30 a.m. CDT

A) I am too old to party like a rock star. B) Nothing good ever happens after midnight.

And here’s the story. I live alone in a big house that would be the envy of any hoarder, so before I sell the house, I need to sell some stuff.

My friend Joe suggested I take a truckload of stuff to the flea market. He volunteered a truck from our buddy Phil.

Friday comes and Joe decides it’d be a great idea if we went out. To be fair, my buddy Ron and his buddy Jeff wanted to have a poker game, so I invited Joe to participate. Since Phil was going to be at my house with his truck at 5 a.m. Saturday, we wouldn’t want to stay out too late.

Joe thought it would be a great idea if we all went out to a little place just outside of town called the Gun & Knife Club by the locals on account of the number of stabbings and shootings that happen there. It’s a pick-up bar if you can survive the night.

I was the designated driver; being an acute observer of society’s underbelly, I was curious about this place.

As soon as we got there, one of the guys made a rude comment that was overheard by somebody having a bad day, and pretty soon, there were sharply barbed words being thrown about along with a cup of ice. Ron and Jeff made a quick exit with one of their wives picking them up in the parking lot.

That left Joe and I, where we didn’t leave until about 3 a.m. Around 3:30, I was still trying to get him in the car. Logic and alcohol are pretty much strangers.

We found a woman who had been abandoned by her friend and thus needed a ride home. She was a friend of Joe’s and we are gentlemen, so we gave her a ride, which was about 15 miles out of my way.

At 4:30, I was again trying to get Joe into the car and finally left him behind. I didn’t want to be late when Phil showed up with his truck. I had just gotten home when Joe called me. He had sobered up enough to know he didn’t belong where he was at and wanted to be picked up.

We all made it to the flea market, but Joe slept in the truck most of the day while Phil and I peddled junk out of my house.

All-in-all, not a bad 24 hours, but the next time Joe wants to go out, I’m pretty sure I already have other plans.

• David Porter can be reached at ramblinman@ramblinman.us.

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