(To fully experience this post, please listen to this cheesy midi, while reading.)
Tucci struggled down the stairs of the parking ramp, the searing pain in his back from a previous battle forcing an awkward gait. He arrived at the bar's packed outdoor patio to the greetings of several acquaintances. Because of the low server to patron ratio, beer was hard to come by, and Tucci became visibly impatient the longer it took for his Sam Adams to arrive. He eschewed his prescribed muscle relaxant this evening so he could enjoy a beer or twelve. The longer it took, the fewer he could imbibe during his stay which, because of the pain, he planned on being brief.
He stood. The pain didn't allow him to sit - at least not now. He situated himself near the familiar faces. In his line of business, situational awareness was a must, and paranoia was it's highest state. Such was the price to be paid for the life he had chosen. So he caroused and drank (eventually) with those he knew, "The Bananaman," and "The Exposer" and their friend "Captain Capitalism". Tucci had never met "Captain Capitalism" but The Bananaman vouched for him. Besides, anyone who wears a hat like that guy was wearing couldn't be taken as too serious of a threat.
Tucci briefly considered ordering onion rings, but the leftover linguini pomodoro with grilled chicken he had for dinner rumbled in his gut for a moment, and he decided to pass.
Outside the bar, Sisyphus tried to parallel park his car.
Before Tucci moved on to another table, The Bananaman alerted him to the presence of the Evil Weeble. Tucci remembered the Evil Weeble from the last time he came to one of these gatherings. And while he knew the Evil Weeble was someone to be avoided at all costs, he did not perceive her as much of a threat - she stuck out like a sore, severely swollen thumb, and stealth was obviously not one of her natural gifts.
Tucci moved on. He noted Kevie's presence, and felt safe in the knowledge that Kevie only posed a threat to you if you were a pheasant or a prairie dog. Cindy talked to Tucci about the Police. After rubbing Andy's fuzzy head for luck, and exchanging pleasantries with Gary "The Gary" Miller, Tucci sidled up to Atomizer and his wife, who had just arrived.
"How's work?" Tucci asked Atomizer who had been officing from home.
"All I do is read blogs and drink martinis." he replied.
"You don't realize it, but you're making contacts..." Tucci said, not really knowing what he meant by that.
Meanwhile, Sisyphus was making his 4th attempt to parallel park his car.
Atomizer left with his wife, and Tucci surveyed the comings and goings of the crowd. He noticed a guy in a shirt that said "MOB member," a tall, white, gangly guy taking pictures, and even a family with children. He chatted briefly with The Bananaman's cohort, Janet and some mysterious guy who went by the handle "R-Five" ("gotta keep my eye on this guy," he thought). Oh, and these people were nice too. It was getting weird out on the patio, time to take a leak and go.
Just then, guy in the "MOB Member" shirt got up and went into the bathroom.
Inside, before Tucci could reach the bathroom, he ran into Mitch, who was sitting with some blonde woman, and a swarthy guy. Judging by the swarthy guy's appearance, Tucci guessed he was Samoan or something like that, with a name like Moopupu Kamanawannalaya. The swarthy guy told Tucci that he was actually Welsh and not at all swarthy (must've been the lighting), so Tucci immediately wrote him off as someone not to be worried about.
Outside, Sisyphus gave up trying to park and drove home.
After chatting a while with Mitch, the Blonde, and the swarthy guy for a while, Tucci inventoried all the folks he met, so he could link to their blogs as has become the custom. Although he never talked to him, Tucci made a mental note to link to Dan Stover's blog. It would be a nice gesture, as Dan only gets 8 hits per day. Tucci glanced over at the