I find myself being rude but can’t help it.

He’s come back from the kitchen with more wine and my thumbs move as quickly as one bottle down will allow, hurriedly taking note of the conversation highlights. There are many. Philosophical musings bounce around like a coked out game of pong in my brain, intermingling with political discussion, movie quotes and the awesomeness of wine. I get enough shorthand into my phone to feel satisfied and gladly take another glass. It’s probably been upwards of three hours, noted only by the kink in my back from the wooden folding chair.