I left an empty bar as an "All-star" after the last call.
I walked to where I was parked to start my engine motor spark to head home to my "tree house bark." I pulled off from the lot and didn't realize that the street was so difficult to seek. I felt a sneak the whole time I was pedalling my drunken feet.
Three miles from my home I crashed into a stash of neighborhood trash. The cans were barely damaged, but the lids fishtailed it across the road. I pulled over to recover and discovered that I wasn't a happening "brother."
I finally made it home, but didn't feel prone to the responsibility of being grown. I should have used a phone.
Written by: Patrick James Quaker
©quaker
Q