I've been all over the map lately because Cow Milk Blues is a crippled alcoholic and every other person in town is a rancher and gun enthusiast*.
Either I learn to shoot assault rifles at wild hogs or I gravitate toward the only other person who sees the library as something more than a bathroom. But to converse with Cow Milk means drinking at least 48 ounces of 8%
which does deaden the senses and makes me forget the desperate past I've
lived and the uncertain future, but brings out Bleacher booze demons that should be left locked up.
