winter. the air is crisp, the temperatures frosty, the alcohol sweet. night after night dave and i hit the karaoke joints, blasting the panties right off in a super-masculine assault on their sensual ears.  it isn't all testosterone when i'm up there, though- my custom-made scarf-belt combines the utility of a belt (pure man stuff) with the aesthetic wonders of a scarf (a little something for the ladies).  after every song i take a few minutes to work the crowd, making my way through with my favorite piece of arm candy- mr grohl himself.  sometimes we go straight through to dawn, sipping sweet brewskis and hitting all the right notes.

last night (or perhaps I should say 'this morning'? sorry i don't conform to your 24-hour day chronofascism, you square) was magical. after the sun rose i stumbled out the back door of one of bethesdas hottest spots to find dave takin' a quick smoke in the alley. he was an oasis of cool in the midst of what was otherwise a very filthy place. a thick trash funk enveloped the area from a dumpster which looked like it hadn't been emptied since the early 90s (when dave was getting his start in a little band i like to call nirvana), and roaches crawled along the edge of the wall. i realized that the puddle i was standing in was not, in fact, rainwater- rather, it had the color and smell of urine.

'dave, man, what are you doing back here?'

before he could answer the sun finally glinted over the top of the fence. i blinked and shielded my eyes for a moment, but when i lowered my hand i found that dave had disappeared. a pile of discarded newspapers and three pieces of cracked eggshell sat in his place, a forlorn monument to my vanished friend.