It’s 95 degrees outside. But I’m inside Casino El Camino wearing a scarf. I’m quietly working on my British accent because in a few minutes I’ll be approached by a group of middle-school teachers asking for my autograph. My autograph will be a crude drawing of a star. Because I’m a VIP. I’m too famous to bother with my name. Maybe I’ll make them sing “Happy Birthday” to me, even though it’s not my birthday. Maybe I’ll make them spell a complicated word, a word like “Fahrenheit.” Then, when they have entertained me sufficiently, I’ll dismiss them by handing them a letter written to them by their students. They might cry over this. Goddamnit, if they cry I swear I’m going to roll my eyes. Roll my eyes so hard and deep my eyeballs squeak.
I’m a clue in a scavenger hunt. I’m improvising.
Deep Eddys Sweet Tea vodka, tonight you’re my only friend.