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“Picking Up an Empty Mountain Dew Can”

It’s an elusive truth, but no matter who is telling this, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to anyone to hear that the objective of life is a state of mind, a feeling of joy. You could say this differs from heaven because when you have a body to control, the whole thing gives the utmost sensation. I once delivered pizzas here in my hometown. There’s a thing I want to tell you about it, that the people were really nice to me; they would discuss NASCAR or the weather while smiling patiently for a minute or so as I inched back to my car. There’s a river flowing through the town and life is simple here. The streets are wide, and I developed an affection for a lot of the street names, like “Golfview,” which is over in the hilly part, and of course “Beale” St. It’s connected to my youth; I miss it when I’m gone.
Usually if I meet a girl in a bar back here one of three things will happen — either she’ll be a lesbian, she’ll have a boyfriend, or we’ll end up hitting it off. People aren’t that stuck up back here, in other words. It’s days like this past Saturday, though, when I can’t help but reminisce about the sheer quantity of single women out in Denver, in bars mid-Saturday, and it doesn’t hurt that there will sometimes be a drunk old veterinarian buying you beers, and a smiling pretty bartender letting you sample excellent tap choices. I’m not saying I should have this everyday, but once in a while. This past Saturday I went to this bar and it was just the old dude bartender and another old man, who soon left. A month earlier I’d been impressed with the guy who’d scored in the 800’s on the punching arcade game. I’d punched it the month before and gotten like 720, but this dude just kept putting dollar after dollar in, and kept getting in the low 800’s. I shot it with the old dude bartender for a little, alone in there, and then went over, put my dollar in once, and punched it once, 812. That’s how it is here.

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