Another Houstonist happy hour last night, another hangover today. Actually, I don’t really have a hangover. I’m just tired. We hung at Warren’s, and that place is always guaranteed to bring the random. Only one person fell down stinking drunk in the four hours we were there, so I guess it was a slow night. The guy who fell dropped all his shit, including what looked to be an old school Texas Instruments calculator (with the scientific functions).

Maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe it was a (much more boring) Blueberry. I mean, Blackberry.Whatever the device was, it ejected its batteries when it hit the ground. That’s when one of the largest non-fat men I’ve ever seen stood up and went to help the little guy who was on the floor. The big guy was wearing overalls, in a completely non-ironic way, and was sitting with another man who too was wearing overalls. And they were drinking martinis. THAT might have been in an ironic way, I don’t know. And no night would be complete without seeing someone who gave me the willies. One of the old school stalkers showed up. He was wearing a hat. Also in a non-ironic way. I jetted shortly after his arrival. Which was probably a good idea anyway. Warren’s on an empty stomach isn’t the smartest move. Neither is three vodka sodas and a beer. But I did sleep well. And had dreams about muscled farm boys entering formulas into calculators while sipping martinis and wearing fedoras. Nothing unusual about that.

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