To us, that's where we stand-him running for something, me running against.
Of course, that statement can be delved into in a deeper, more psychological manner by someone. But, not us. No sir. Not tonight. Tonight, I drink brandy. Stan won't drink. Can't drink. Mostly spills (Doesn't eat either. Spaghetti smeared across his face in a lazy attempt to absorb nutrients through ceramic skin. His lips never parting from that goofy smile.). But, he doesn't judge me for it. He grins, knowing that a little brandy will bring about a hundred guess-you-had-to-be-there stories that we've overheard along the way. And we laugh. And laugh. And laugh even harder when we realize how much funnier the stories would be if we had actually been there. I'll probably have some more brandy. Stan will grin, knowing that the brandy and the laughter will lead to a jig. A jig that we won't talk about. Won't critique. Won't say how not-a-jig it was. How jigs have more bounce in the feet, more bend in the knees. To us, it's a jig. To us, this whole thing is a jig. A silly exercise in getting by until inspiration knocks us free and we're dancing.