Friday, February 11, 2005

While the head drunk is away... 

Manhattan Transfer said he wasn't going to repeat the Honduras incident. Before skipping the country with his diamond dealer this time, he throws you the keys to the Manhattan Transfer estate. You take a moment to observe your surroundings. Not bad, though it does have the faint smell of stale alcohol, beer nuts, and lost innocence. Rather like the Village Idiot, really. You take a moment to dance on the bar, for old times sake.

He gave you explicit instructs as he peeled away: Worst. Blog. Ever. You're still a bit uneasy speaking in the second person. But you're too hung over to argue.

Trying to decide if you're up to the task, you walk over to the liquor cabinet. Conveniently, the lock's busted. But all the whiskey's empty. You find a dusty bottle of absinthe and look for a lighter.

When you come to, there is a small asian women who hands you a change of clothes. Perfect fit. You walk through the lobby and the doorman gives you a knowing look. You feel as though you've entered the set of Cheers. Except everyone actually gets drunk here. And only you can't remember your name. You blink at the light outside as a canary colored escort offers you a ride. You decide to go where he takes you.

MT will be back soon. In the meantime, your "Manhattan Transfer went to Latin America and all I got was this stupid blog" tshirts will be ready shortly.