Life is full of adventures. In fact, it is one series of adventures. Every day, every moment, every step into the outside domain of your house is an adventure. Take for example the adventure I just had to 7-11. Why drive when you are obviously drunk, it is five minutes walking, thirty minutes from the alcohol selling cut-off point, and you desire adventure? At that point I said to myself, “Fuck it, I’ll just walk.” What happened along the way was completely unexpected. I knew I desired adventure. I just didn’t know what that desire was going to lead too, as is the case with many desires and adventures.

All is fine. WWE’s Smackdown just ended, I had my traditional four-pack of Red Dogs, kinda of buzzed. Loki, my cat, is learning to use the toilet as a litter-box. It’s been rough training him, but, tonight, he went on his own, without my support. A big night for us, as a reward, I let him go outside. I figure, I desire more beer, Loki just went to the bathroom, fuck it, let him out when I am going to 7-11 for more beer. He deserves it. So, we walk out the back door together.

Okay, we leave headed towards 7-11. Loki usually follows me for the first thousand feet and then stops. This time he follows me longer. I noticed his actions and turn around to see what he is doing. Just then I notice people on a balancy watching my every move. I pretend that I am doing nothing abnormal and continue forward. Along the way I spy a person working on his broken down Firebird at eleven-thirty at night. `Pay no mind. Let him be,’ I tell myself. I cross the ditch that separates my apartment from the busiest street in town, Montgomery. I don’t even walk fifty feet when I encounter a woman turning into the apartment complex next to mine. The curious thing is that she covers her face when she turns, so that I can’t see who she is. Is this someone from my past that doesn’t want to be recognized? Is this a self-conscience woman who doesn’t want to be gaulked at by a strange man walking of the street? Basically, what is her deal-e-o yo? Then, immediately after she leaves the field of concentration a person in a random car shouts, “Fuck you,” at me. A typical slur, but coincidental when reference to the last incident. If the lady in the car knew me, did the asshole in the car know me as well? Who knows?

All is well until I get to the 7-11. I go to the liquor section, hoping for a MGD tall boy. It is only two dollars after tax, and enough liquor to satisfy my desire. Unfortunately, they don’t have any. Bastards. After looking over the selection I choose an OilCan of Fosters. They are bigger than the typical bombers, and a good quality beer. The only problem that I face is getting it out. Because it is so big, and they stack them two on top of each other, I can’t simply slide one out. I try pulling it, nothing. I try tugging it, nothing. Finally, I decide to move the other beer around it to get my treasure out. I move the beer next to it, and free the Fosters from its terrible restrains of non-sellabitiy. All freedoms have their cost, and mine was that, although, I free my Fosters of it’s slavery, I also knocked down the rest of the stock in the back fridge, causing a huge noise noticed by everybody in the store causing them to look at what happened. Knowing my fault, and being caught, I turned around to publicly apologize to the store for my drunken mistake, when I noticed someone I had not seen in forever, three months. Public apology was forgotten, and attention was focused on this new person from my past. He was a fellow employee of this chick that I knew for years. He wanted to sleep with her, she wanted to be friends, eventually he tired of pursuing her non-fuckness, and she stopped working where he did. Truly, a heart-breaking story. Being close friends with this chick, I briefly befriended this guy, and here he is, making copies on a 7-11 copier right after I destroy their entire stock of Fosters OilCans.

We relate what was been going on in our lives for the next thirty seconds. He, obviously, doesn’t want to be associated with the dunk in the store, but it is too late, I already made him associated when I screamed, ‘Hey, how the SHIT are you?’ I go up to the counter to pay for my beer. Panic grips my friend from socially embarrassing him and he tries leaving without paying for the copies. The clerk, whose eye never left him after he first said hello to me, notices his feeble attempt at pity theft signals the auto-lock stopping him at the door. The scoundrel pays and leaves without another word spoken. While the rest of us law-abiding citizens are waiting to pay, this hefty drunk woman walks in. She immediately says hello to the skater punk kid in line behind me. I don’t notice the intention of her vocalization and say hello at the same time the kid said hello. At this point, I realize I was not intended to respond. She glares at me. Then she grabs her beer quick like a bunny and bounces in line behind him. I lose interest as she initiates the flirting.

The clerk, at first, doesn’t know what too say to me. I knocked down his beer. Does he get mad? Does he refuse my service knowing that it is too late to get beer elsewhere? Does he pretend that I wasn’t the one who just caused a hundred dollars in damaged merchandise and at least half-hour of clean up? I respond to his hesitation by instantly apologizing. I saying, ‘I am so sorry man. I didn’t mean to knock over all those beers. I was just trying to get one. I’m sorry.’ Lay the sorries on thick. At this point, I made him feel sorry for me, forcing him to say, “I know, it is hard to get those out.” Fabulous, I think to myself, my instant admittance coerces his feelings to empathy allowing me to pay for my beer and leave the 7-11. Smiling at my recent obscene behavior being mistaken as commonplace. Glimpsing at the cute chick in the Jeep, I walk home.

All is well until I get back on the grounds of my apartment complex. There I notice the same guy working on his Firebird. Rock on guy. I hear Metallica playing from some apartment, and see people being too cool to move to the music. Rockers like pretending they have no rhythm. I spy two chicks eyeing the scene before them. Catching their attention they yell, `Hello.” I respond with hello as well. My aloofness does not satisfy them, and they query, “How are you?” I tell them I am fine and ask how they are doing. A conversation ensues that last five minutes until one of the friends drags the other inside without a goodbye. Twenty feet later, I am greeted by Loki who guides me safely home without incident.

You probably read this faster than it occurred, but the point was that an adventure, like the one you use have as a kid, happens every day, constantly, always, all ways. The thing to remember is that while you were a kid once, it doesn’t mean that you have to stop having adventures, no matter what form they may take. Looking at this through the eyes of a child my adventure may appear this way. I rode off in the unknown with my trusty stead searching for treasure. Along the way, I encountered a bird of fire, a woman without a face, a man whose voice was venom. Then I had to destroy a tower of liquid to get the treasure. In order to escape with the treasure, I had to sooth a savage beast, avoid a siren’s call, and weather my way perilous until I found my stead who guided me safely home. Shit man, the choice is simple. You can live life looking at it through your never-do-anything-exciting adult eyes or through the eyes of an adventurous child. The choice is yours.

I'm Nick James bitch!