I'm Popular From the Internet

Last night for lack of anything better to do I found myself at the Marion Friday Night bar scene, and while there encountered a few socially outlying tumbleweeds.

Because, it is awfully quiet down there on a Friday night. At just past midnight I was surprised that anyone could even be that drunk that they'd be kicked out of a bar. Yet, to quench my disbelief I watched while we waited for a ride to come as a generic looking white boy was denied entry to the pool hall. Our eyes followed as he sat dejectedly on the wooden picnic tables outside and tried to light a cigarette.

Conversation returned internal for a moment before our attention was fondled again by a slurry voice.
"Brad?"
We all turned to look at him, he continued to look at me. "Brad?" He said.

And so my mind raced. Who was this person, and how did he know me? And then I realised, perhaps... perhaps my little journal had grown to such size that I was now recognised on the street by regular people. Drunk people, sure, but they were maybe but one of the many demographics who use the internet and, therefore, knew who I was! This was how celebrities felt! Identified on the street, their names shrieked or hollered! Demands for attention interjecting their routine conversations.

I patted my pockets, but I had no pen for an autograph.
"What's your name?" I asked. "I can't give you an autograph but maybe I can give you something better!"
In my head this very entry was being drafted and structured by neurological nanites.

"Brad..." he drawled. "...I know... your brother."

"Next time." I thought to myself, as he tried a few times to put the cigarette between his lips. "Next time..."

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