I never fancy sacrificing Saturday for the fun Friday, but sometimes that’s inescapable when being subjective about means beyond your control. I cautiously met up at a Venice dive called The Red Garter.
Devon Ahmad had never thrown a dart in life, but she really knew how to aim. Picked her spots, she took down double 17’s, triple 12’s and Bully smoothly, like she’d been there before, a testament to her authentic nature.
Plus Cinnamon even decided to pimp us all out.
She also became oriented with a dartboard for the first time, and as my partner was able to demonstrate keen target matching traits. The world of darts opened up beautifully. The Hat established his venerability yet again, for his diatribes on the meaning of life resonated with us all ever so deeply.
He firmly believes that there’s always one way to solve a problem, and from that notion alone many questions were answered.
At one moment I thought The Hat was going to brawl with some mindless long haired dude, a leftover from ’72. He chose to stay balanced.
Their grievances settled quickly, for the love of God, since I wasn’t exactly in any shape of mind to deal with complications. Unwanted action averted assists in essential progression.
Devon and I tied for the night with two wins apiece. I’m excited to find someone with veritable enthusiasm for the game, sharing much of the same energy Lara displays on a regular basis, undaunted by extraneous pressures.
So today, Saturday, cannot be a wasted effort. Night of Champions it is, and forsaking art for sleep doesn’t seem the least bit reasonable, behaviorally speaking. And it doesn’t help being drunk while writing about it, but I’ll be there.
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