ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A city worker has told The Advocate today in the smoking area of the Gelded Gorilla Inn down the French Quarter that he’s not sure if he should be doing an absolute number on himself with the boys tonight or be tucked up alone in his studio apartment doom-scrolling Twitter until 3 in the morning.
Either way, says Bradyn Taylor, he needs to make a decision before his arm is twisted into a third Friday afternoon pint of brown ale.
“Because if I have that third pint, I might as well have seven,” he said.
“I’ve been saving up my alcohol units all week, I think that’s how it works. Anyway, look, with all this news that the media – and the mates in various group chats I’m in – have been forcing combat footage and whatnot down my throat all day, I just want to sit in a wet, humid beer garden and make the same joke about the fucking Tigers having seven co-captains this year over and over again,”
“I want to laugh about the Dockers thinking they have a chance this year. Mate, they haven’t even had COVID yet. They’re that far behind the 8-ball. But on the other hand, I’ll be able to wake up early tomorrow if I don’t pickle my brain tonight into disconnecting with news and current affairs,”
“Reading this shit, I feel like a dog that’s been left in a hot car. I just want to get the fuck out of here and drink something cold.”
More to come.
