Friday (Thank God, he said)

On the elevator, on the way back from a smoke break (yeah, still one of those people), I rode with a man whose job I'm not certain of, but suspect he's with GSA, something about running the building. He's in his early 60's, I'd guess. Hair greased back 50's style - earring in one ear. This gentleman is tossing a pen up in the air and catching it - tossing and catching, tossing and catching. Says, "I'm in a good mood."

And I say, "Yeah?"

He says, "It's Friday. I'm going to the VFW and I'm gonna get bombed." The door to the elevator opens. Out he walks. "Maybe I'll even get lucky," he says, still tossing his pen.

'O Fridays. 'O hope.