social capital lost and found

Suckling at the last of his drink he pressed for another. The biting sting of fresh lime burned his cracked lips as the sweet Suaza Silver slid down his throat. "Number 1 tequila in Mexico they say," his thoughts wafting away with the excessive smoke of too many cigars sauntering slowly through the open air patio. "How fitting, fucking parrotheads." As always at this time, the local color had begun to relive the excess of their fraternal youth, the endless chant of Buffet sloshing off the juke. "...and I know, it's my own damn fault. Fucking Brilliant." Grabbing his stained jacket, he stumbled away, stuck on the remarkable subtlety with which signs always arrive.