Friday Nights Out

I don't go out very often. Come to think of it, I rarely went out even at the hey day of college. Now, it's a once a month thing, with the usual suspects.

 

 Palomino.

 Alfonsina.

 The Boxster.

 Ryan. 

Actually, Ryan isn't a usual suspect. We've known him since his college days as a kicker for the UW Huskies; The Boxster has known him since he was single digit age. And perhaps the most logical reason that he is not a usual suspect is our difference in ages. But the boy can hold his own amongst us old timers.

 Five-Star Scotty.

 Yours truly.

Christina. 

Again, like Ryan, Christina isn't really a usual suspect. She just happens to be where we always end up for the evening. And she's in the same age group as Ryan. But we have known her for many years now. She started out as our server, and eventually became a part of our table as she sat with us to take a load off her feet during work. She was a competitive figure skater, who was a strong contender for Olympic status. 

What do we do on our Friday nights out?

We talk.

And talk.

And talk some more.

And when we run short on topics, we change the subject, and talk some more. Then when we need a break from hearing our own voices, we turn to the table next to us and start chatting with the people there, whom we eventually bring into the conversation at our table, and the vicious talking cycle starts all over again. 

Sometimes we get into heated debates about politics.

Sometimes we single out a suspect, and put them under the spot light to torture with criticism, admonishment, or simply poke fun of them for the subject of which they are in the spot light.

Sometimes we all part with disgust and hatred toward each other. 

But in the end, we all start again full circle from the beginning. Except this time with new topics and new perspectives, but with no less energy than before.

This is my Friday nights out with the usual suspects.

Ps. Missing Suspect: Henriette.

Pps. Yes, we're all wearing the same hat. THE SAME hat. It's mine.