Another Birthday

My mother said she was 32 when my father bailed.

First she said happy birthday.

My father said my mother organized an "Over the Hill" party for his thirtieth.

Am I two years over the hill?
I thought society deemed 50 the peek.

"Yeah, but when you turn 50 you'll think 60 is over the hill," my father said.

Then the conversation transitioned into butchers and drunk Indians.

Rob, Greg, Jeremy and I met up at the Pike for some whiskey and beer on Sunday evening.

Greg aged a year that day. He's 35 now.
At midnight it was my turn.

Then Michael Head graced us with his presence.

Michael Head is an ex-convict with plenty of tattoos, but no teeth.
He mention heroin and cocaine.
Eventually he revealed a personal pleasure - hot candle wax dripping on his balls.

My beer tasted a little funny after that so we bid adieu to Mr. Head and ended our evening.

Happy birthday Greg.
Happy birthday me.