After a self-imposed exile to Costa Rica, my old friend Moonie showed up at 3 AM a couple of days ago with a case of good beer and a stack of Warren Zevon cassette tapes. He was mumbling something under his breath about kites and politics and how you just can’t find good grits in Central America. The only cassette player is in my old truck, so we sat out in the driveway until dawn drinking his beer, telling lies, and making big plans. I think we woke up the lady next door blasting Lawyers, Guns, and Money. We finished off the beer listening to Don’t Let Us Get Sick just as the sun came up over Hibriten Mountain.
It’s sure good to see Moonie again. Don’t know how long he’s staying, but he’s welcome as long as he doesn’t tick off Holly, and brings by beer once in a while.