One week night at Orlando’s 64 North, a friend was celebrating his birthday.
He hired me for my photography services.
As I photographed, I downed shots and beer all night.
I remember the evening’s first half.
The second half of the evening?
I only remember bits and pieces.
On the drive home from 64 North, I found myself cruising through a neighborhood I didn’t recognize.
Don’t even remember how I got there.
Don’t even remember the streets I turned to get there.
Yet, I managed to find the exit out of the neighborhood.
The next morning?
Saw photos on my camera I don’t remember taking.
Photos taken during the second half of the night.
Looked at my mobile phone.
Saw a selfie I don’t remember taking.
Me posing with a female bartender.
Had never spoken to her before.
Yet, there we were in a selfie cozying up to each other.
May I also add I might be old enough to be that girl’s father?
After that night, I tried laying off the booze.
Of course, that shit didn’t last long.
This is an excerpt from the photo and poetry book Three Orlando Nightspots. Copies can be purchased on Amazon.com. Just click right here.