Me, during an evening of sitting on pea green, chocolate brown and beige boutique furniture, drinking $14/four-pack beer, and ricocheting rapid-fire witticisms about supper clubs, pop culture icons and travel mishaps with a mixed group of men, women and gay non-math-oriented professionals carousing through the twilight of our nation’s greatness:
Me, during a night of rolling solo in a dimly lit bar chatting up girls:
You’ve gotta struggle a little to feel like a free man.
[crypto-donation-box]
