Ah, The Royal Cuckoo. Mine and Yolanda’s favorite end-up spot in San Francisco, on a typical Friday hang-out evening. It has a live jazz performer, an extensive record collection, ratty chairs, and is festively lit like Jame Gumb’s (The serial killer from Silence of the Lambs) bedroom. On some evenings, you can even meet King Cobbler (a real local celebrity) and he can hook you up with some cobbler from the back of his truck! In many ways, The Royal Cuckoo reminds me of my parents basement.
Anyways, here we are, Yolanda and I, on a typical Friday night about 10:00 PM. Dig it.
All I had was one task. ONE SIMPLE TASK. And yet, because I’d just inhaled an industrial strength death roach prior to entering the bar, my brain was more interested in soaking up stimuli than remembering things. I estimated I had about 5-10 minutes to wait in line to order a drink whose name I’d already forgotten.