I woke up this morning with a headache, so I chugged the glass of water on my bedstand and went outside to pee. It was already a gorgeous day, skies clear, seventy degrees, slight breeze. I stretched the booziness out of my joints, then walked across the backyard to the smoker. I knocked a beer can out of the way and opened it up. There was a half-eaten piece of pork on the rack, still glistening with marinade. I thought, breakfast. I picked it up and ate a couple bites, getting marinade all over my chin. I wiped it off with my forearm. I put the pork back on the grill and walked into the kitchen, picked up the milk carton, took a couple swigs, put the carton back, belched and thought, yes. Yes, I love my life.
