It's not 7:21 right now. I'm writing this two days later, recalling the events. 7:21: At Bubba's again. Bubba's is inexplicably closed. The sign claims they're open, but they're clearly not. There is still drinking on the premesis. This premisis does not miss one single beat. Two cats I don't know, and a set of siblings I do. Steve is doing his laundry. Matt is sitting around being his brother. There are some weird cats (people) who offered me a beer. I'm trying not to drink (sort of) but I do not decline. I accept. But I'm saved. Apparently these cats drank their whole case... except for five cans which were unaccounted for. There was surprise and confusion about this. The girl-cat, who wasn't wearing much, was evidently (witness testimony) on lossa-lossa ecstacy. After I was long gone she reportedly convinced Matt to give her Steve's sweatshirt*. She claimed she'd return it at Wendy's later: a plan making no sense at all. She asked me if I had any weed. Come on, sketchy girl. What do I look like? Sketchy? "Nah... not on me." I am not sketchy. You are a very sketchy character. Ask me louder next time, please.
I was only there for about a minute. Approximately one: but it was a specific minute that I type about frequently. Rob and family rode by, and I went after them to see if anything better than the laundry scene was occurring.
*Matt redeemed the hell out of himself. The following evening he saw her getting a pedicab ride with a tourist cat (old man). Matt jumped from Dreamin's still-moving vehicle, and according to witness testimony, he chased her pedicab for two blocks before catching up at a red light. The sweatshirt was returned to the rightful owner's brother.