There’s the fifth tumbleweed to go by the saloon. Here’s my forth beer of the afternoon. Another one bites the dust right before dusk. ...

I finally get home, kick my heels off, and pick my best little boy, Rocco. As I’m loving on Rocco I take a look around my apartment. It’s small. Like really small. The smell of Nag Champa fills the air regularly. I look at the microwave clock, it’s 4:43 a.m.. I go to the refrigerator and pull out a beer. I don’t really care beer but I need something to take the edge off. The edge? Yes the fucking ...