Caged Tigers

I got nothing though I felt obligated to write something. My prickling fingertips told me so, as did the voices that rummage in my head from time to time (a lot of times). But we won’t get into that subject, my mother always said to never speak of them. EVER!

Today is supposed to be the beer festival in Atlanta. I was looking forward to taking my kids to their mother’s house for the weekend, and proceeding to allow the shitfacedness to ensue. Alas, it is not to be. You see, the festival is in the open streets of East Atlanta, but today the sky weeps. There is even a chance of a thunderstorm or two sweeping by. Bad enough to have drunks on the street, but to have drunks on the wet, rainy road, ehh… no gracias. You have no idea how retarded people get when it rains in this city. You'd think they got gassed or something.

Its' not that I hate the rain, hell, without it most people don’t know how strike up conversation. It’s just that it’s been raining for two weeks already. We are starting to feel and sound a lot like caged tigers: A lot of pacing, roaring, and clawing at one another. Its getting ugly. Wish me luck, but above all, wish me beer.