September 5 - French Goodbye

Around 11:30am I woke up on the floor of the hotel.
Dan and Holli were down there, too.
Ugh, gotta go.
I had a wedding to be at.
And I left mini Jonestown.

The door of our apartment became my entrance and Lauren's exit.
She had to go to work.
Brief kisses.
I found the couch for an hour.

The wedding songs continuously repeated in the van.
It forced the learning down my cerebrum.
I ran into Anne the cellist on the street.
We lugged our instruments a couple of blocks to the wedding.

The band was set up in the stage right corner.
In my direct line of vision were a set of exposed breasts.
It was a woman and her thirsty baby.
Out of courtesy, I looked to my right for twenty consecutive minutes.
My politeness was rewarded with a sore neck.

A cousin of the groom introduced himself to the band.
The guitarist introduced himself as Tyler.
I also mistakenly introduced myself as Tyler.
Then I corrected myself.
Because my name is Tony, not Tyler.
The cousin laughed uncomfortably.
Everyone thought I was drunk.
I wasn't drunk.
I was on less than 90 minutes of sleep.
That's less sleep than an Ernest movie.

The wedding went well.
I didn't fuck it up.
Some of my friends were there.
Celebratory socializing started but I didn't have it in me.
So I made a French goodbye, and snuck out without even congratulating the bride and groom.

I don't remember anything afterward.
I just asked Lauren what else happened that day.
She said she worked and when she came home I was asleep.

Verdict: Loss

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