yesterday it was 80 and sunny outside and life was good.

today, it rains and rains and rains for no apparent reason. i can still see the sun too. what the hell.

but life is still good.

at lunchtime it was the return to the glory days of high school lunchtime at some chicken place called bofangles. rizzo and i are the only ones in the fine dining establishment who are not white haired senior citizens or muddy helmeted construction workers or pimply pre-pubescent adolenscents. rizzo was one of the latter back in da day and i made sure he remembered.

dude, whatever, dont hate on me. im a player

whatever riz. you dont know a damn thing about being a player. you cant even spell player.

sure i do mo. pee, ell, ay, why, ay.

and right then rizzo scpieled into his double secret college life of playerdom. i was quite a bit shocked and prompted to talk about playerdom as well and the discussion went on for months and all the old people in the finest of dining establishments this side of the mississippi looked at us all funny.

in the mornings, he usually awakens early and dons a crushed velvet bathrobe and lights up a cuban before he has to kick her out of his room.

in the mornings, i usually awaken to screams and the sound of breaking glass. i grab my pants, jump out the window and down the fire escape. and looking back i usually see a large man who plays a sport involving a ball yelling and shaking his fist at me.

the night before, he called her at home, picked her up, and took her out to wine and dine at the nice restaurant down the street.

the night before, i texted her from the bar, left the blonde at the bar with a smooch and a business card, and walked down the back alley behind the courthouse to her apartment at the end of franklin street.

a week later, he is shoving a restraining order in her crying face and pushes her out the door, again.

a week later, i am running out of the club because shes there and she sees me. and her boyfriend does too.

a month later, he is walking out of the nurses office with a stack of papers, a big frown, and a curious itch.

a month later, i am walking out of the nurses office with a ripped shirt, a disheveled hairdoo, and a big smirk on my face.

different strokes, thats all, i say.

rizzo scratches his head.

you really banged the nurse?

i give him a look.

wtf mate. she wouldnt even return my calls.

wow, you must be some kinda player.

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