Went to a club last night, a decidely ungothy Goth club with a Fench Punk band that didn’t play. Now that’s punk. Walking home Elvira (El-vee-ta) and I met the Only Black Man in the KKK (as he styled himself, loudly). After complementing my wife’s ass, he hit me up for a buck eighty so he could get a beer. I gave him two bucks because he was friendly and honest. I don’t buy the, “I just nead a doallar so’s I can get gass,” excuse or the bus fare excuse, either. If you’re poor and a beer will help make you happy, then by all means, man. Have one on me.
Though it occured to me when we got home that I’ve run into the Only Black Member of the KKK before, in pretty much the same place, at least once before. He hit me up for beer money then too. Oh well.
There is the chance that my good natured, hedonistic altruism could backfire and what he calls beer, I call crack. It could happen, though he was way to jolly and easy going for a crack fiend. Besides, I give money to the Government and they say they’re going to spend it on education and the economy and then use it to blow off the arms of Iraqi children. Which proves only that you never know where a night out on the town with the misses will end up.