Rock Bottom

Yesterday Kourtney, Ryan and I made our last watering hole run before my departure from UCSD. We went to Rock Bottom, across the street from campus. The substance of the conversation isn’t fit to be repeated here, I pledged that I wouldn’t. Yet I must admit a harrowing fascination for their mutual sense of humor, something which puts me in mind of a Lovecraftian universe. Listening to their japes and opinions is like watching “Wild Kingdom” (with Marlin Perkins).

Though unrepentant of daemoniac mirthmaking, if any defense is needed Kourtney will tell you, "I don't make fun of people who aren't deserving of my ridicule."

One matter I did bring up is my diminishing communication with old friends who’s lifestyles, like Ryan and Kourtney’s, tear off on paths startlingly different from my own. Now I am wondering if the increasing silence isn’t symptomatic of my recklessly broadcasting my friends’ most appalling anecdotes.

None of us imbibed immoderately at Rock Bottom, but we did eat nachos, pizza, and noxious ice cream sundaes. And for that we were all repentant.