Hydrocarbon Girl

In a bar called Madam’s Organ, in the neighborhood of Adams Morgan, we got smashed proper. We consumed huge-ass fried chicken dinners with fried okra and candied yams. I had four scotch-and-sodases, two touchdowns (that I called field goals), a couple of froofy-assed “tic-tacs” that came recommended by the hot waitress that my friend fell in love with cuz she had the molecular structure of dopamine tattooed on her hip. She said I was old because I drank scotch. I called her “Hydrocarbon Girl” and she didn’t like it. We spent a lot of money…a lot of money. We had exotic women from eastern Europe sit with us but not for very long cuz we were getting more obnoxiouser by the second. I bet the cab fare that Steely Dan did not sing Black Water and was amazed to learn that the Doobie Brothers did. Michael McDonald was in both bands so nobody won the bet although technically I did. We ended up walking home (by home I mean hotel) and my friend had to pee on a dumpster. Oh yeah, my poster went well…I guess.