Friday night was a trip and a half. Patrick Rosal, Roger Bonair-Agard, Marty McConnel, mad crazy hip hop, and the throw back spot. Someone say WORD. So I am sitting among the leaders of the old school, listening trying to become the aprentice.
Patrick and Roger exchanged stories of B-boy worms after adulthood, and the crashes that come with them. I had a great old time dancing and drinking and getting pretty lucky at the bar. I bought two drinks and both drinks made me feel as if I owned the bar. The first drink, I asked for a straight Jack, and she gives me a big conac glass, almost filled to the top and told me that two people served the drink by mistake so she combined it. That one drink lasted me some time. Anyway I danced and laughed and Patrick made me take shots, that evil man. I had a ball. Poets know how to throw down. Double word.

Short post, just had a great time and wanted to record it in my only journal. Ima have to start a real one at some point and not be flaky with it. Oh well.
Tonight, bar 13, a red tent, great poetry, dope merch.