As we're riding down Ave A, I say "Gosh, hard to believe we drank 4 beers each, eh?" "Yeah, I barely feel it myself" He keeps going south towards his home, I turn, with the idea of going home, but then the bike makes a turn west, down 3rd st, and next thing I know, I am at House of Regrets. 10 bucks later, I am zigzagging through the fairly quiet corridors, realizing that yes, I did have 4 beers, and it's showing. I was hoping for some Eurotrash Bowery Bar Beige boys, since they often find their way down here on a Tuesday night, but no sign of that particular type of doable-here, but wouldn't-take-home-with-ya kinda guys. So I went to the seats, and dropped my ass down in one for awhile, with some awful Showtime movie with Denzel getting a haircut when he turns from prison inmate to cop somehow, and Crowe is like a robot or something playing drum machines in a club. Really hard to follow, so I went prowling around some more. Eventually I barged my way into someone's booth, and he seemed pleased. Or at least his pants were happy to see me, and I made myself at home for awhile. Was actually kinda fun, and just as we were "finsihing up" some guy walks into the booth ( I always "accidentally" forget to lock up), tried to make nice nice with us, but we are already pulling clothes back on and zipping, snapping, etc. Too bad, he looked kinda nice. I washed up, rode home, ate whatever was in the fridge, and found the bed somehow.