Canal Street

I’ve been playing this whole it’s funny if it’s awkward card for so long that I think it has evolved into my real personality. Which is probably why I ended up in Chinatown after Friday’s Sox game, sitting at the bar of an empty, closed restaurant explaining to a horrified bartender that if I only did half shots it wasn’t as bad for the baby. (The baby being about 200 fortune cookies I stole out of a box in their kitchen and stuffed into my hoodie.) My face and neck, along with my 10 cohorts, may also have been covered with ink from a rubber stamp that said Catanasia in big bold letters. The shots were from a dusty bottle we convinced them to sell us for forty bucks, labeled only with a Chinese dragon and the number 56. It could have easily been floor cleaner. While I was leaving I tripped over some caution tape, landed face first and smashed my stomach to bits. Then we went a few doors down, rented a private karaoke room after being told, “You can do anything in there…no drugs” where everyone promptly lit a cigarette, took off their shirts, and started dancing on tables. I actually sang, which is a testament to how drunk I was. Such, such fun. See you next weekend Three Happiness.