Raise your hand if you just listened to the Gourds' version of Gin and Juice approximately sixteen times in a row. Just me? That's what I thought, biatches.
Pretty hectic weekend with little poker playing. ScurvyWife and I went to San Antonio on Saturday and did some shopping and general hanging out. Zipped back up to Kyle for some minor league auto racing at the track there, which is always a good time.
In between, though, we stopped at a gas station to get some water and there was a homeless dude in front of us at the counter, buying a Keystone tallboy with change. So we're standing there and I'm thinking "Jebus, that guy smells like shit." Like, literally. So he gets his beer and leaves and it still reeks, at which point the lady working behind the corner walks around and starts shaking her head, saying "He walks in shits." Which was a little confusing, until I noticed she was looking down at the floor. And, lo and behold, there are indeed shitty footprints, leading to and from the counter.
Walks in shits, indeed.