Pass that bottle to me

Mood: celebratory
Down in New Orleans where everything's fine all them cats is drinkin' that wine
Drinkin' that mess is their delight when they get drunk start singin' all night
Drinkin' wine spo-dee-o-dee drinkin' wine wine spo-dee-o-dee drinkin' wine
Wine spo-dee-o-dee drinkin' wine pass that bottle to me
"Drinkin' wine spo-dee-o-dee"

Taking a break from blogging, getting buzzed drinking 32-ounce cups of ice (50 cents from the Evergreen Chinese restaurant in the 600 block of West Grace - coincidentally where Today's Bus leaves for NYC) and Australian Chardonnay dumpster-dived by Harry in the shadow of the Prestwould, Richmond's most prestigious condominium address. Harry is a paranoid-schizophrenic on the run from Florida to avoid taking his medication. He doesn't like the side effects. He is currently engaged in what the medical profession dryly calls self-medicating. He's a former carnie games worker who says you have better odds of winning at a carnival than you do in Vegas. The prizes are crap, though. He's seen people spend $800 to win a prize that cost $8 wholesale, which is one reason he quit. As we drink, Harry calls out from the shadows, "Hello, lay-dees," to the coeds walking by. I ask him if that ever works. He says, "Once in a blue moon."


Harry once claimed to have the night sleeping in the garage at the Richmond Police Department HQ. The cookies he gave me helped sustain me when I ran out of money in NYC. If it weren't bad enough that he's a paranoid-schizophrenic missing his front teeth, Harry doesn't know what he wants: whether to stay in Richmond or go back to Florida. One side effect of not taking his medication is that the voices in his head have returned, the most prominent and evil being Mr. Williams. Harry says he ran over and killed Mr. Williams with a car, but Mr. Williams is coming back to kill him May 9. I guess a friend (or enemy) of the devil is a friend (or enemy) of mine.