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Tomato, Tomahto

We were elbowed at the bar by Noon. My friend with the bigger tattoo sleeves. Both of us there to cure our hangovers.

“Damn, I’ve been on a bender,” he said. “Are you sure you didn’t call me last night?”

“I’m sure,” I said, tipping back the first beer.

“You didn’t ask me to let your dog out?”

“Wait. Let me think….No, I didn’t call you. That explains why she was in the yard though.”

“Shit,” he shook his head.

We finished our drinks silently, both somewhat doubting our own stories.

“Man, when I drink whiskey I forget everything,” he said.

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Well, I thought it was to have fun.”

“TomAto, TomAHto.”

We had a few more rounds.

Then left around dusk.

I think.

Categorized as: Fiction

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