Blog of Billy

It can't really be a good night unless the cops are involved, and last night was a good night.

About 2 a.m., after a rousing round of Denny's, Patrick and I were waiting around outside his apartment for Matt to get back with his keys, so he and I started to walk around. We made it out of his complex and down the street with no Matt, so we kept going. Around a mile later, we started jogging, for no reason other than that we could. I was in my standard t-shirt and jeans, but Patrick was wearing a see-through shirt with a picture of the Baby Jesus, dress shoes with no socks, and a suitcoat. In my second most incredible experience this year, and the first one in this state, I found that I could keep jogging without stopping for a really long time. I've never been able to go more than about 1/4 mile or so without having to at least slow down to a walk, but for some reason, I was able to make it almost a full mile before we decided to stop. Edmond's finest, however, didn't seem to think that two such strangely dressed lads ought to be out running the streets in the middle of the night, and after asking us how much we had been drinking (none whatsoever), he ran our drivers' licenses and called for backup. There's something oddly embiggening about knowing that the cop thats bugging you for being out at a late hour considers you dangerous enough to require help. Of course, the ociffer had no reason to keep us any longer than a simple check, though it was obvious he didn't believe that we would be out jogging. Male prostitues perhaps...

I've rarely laughed as hard as when I saw Tom Richardson jump up and down yelling "Down with the Man! DOWN WITH THE MAN!" nor have I wanted to do the exact same thing more than last night.