excitement from Eric and Bruce Springsteen
while I commute to work,
and do the social media marketing
for a comedy club in Pasadena.
I feel like I am in the 90s
at this party
because the comics all wear flannel
and the fans
all wear t-shirts
with dumb slogans on them.
Greg Burmeister and I sneak
a whiskey slug
and a few fried calamari
and continue checking IDs.
New York is cold,
and there is no comfort
in responsibility,
so I shove some corn dogs
into my cargo pockets,
and take the stage.