October 22, 2019:
There's confusion. I don't want to fire the machine gun, I just want a spent casing. The marines, the Big Brothers all find this perplexing, as though their narrow expectation of the event was too small for the unexpected no matter how straightforward. I just want a fucking casing. Eventually I'm given one but not till after much confab.
I give a speech. I love it. Look at me, I'm so smart! The Kiwanis or some such. Perhaps the program seeks contributions, I'm really not sure. Everyone loves me although I talk exclusively of the material benefits: movies, outings, presents. What else would they have expected?
Shelter Island. "You forgot your quarter!" "No that's a tip for the waitress." A tip? I've heard of that but have never seen one. For his midday margarita, a lifelong habit judging from contemporary imagery. He and the missus each have that puffy red-cheeked vibe spelling "alcoholism".