At 2AM Insomnia walked into the bar and presided one stool over.

I mumbled a greeting and mainlined a tequila. Tongue to tummy, skipping everything else—including enjoyment.

We eyed each other, me without humor, Insomnia with a knowing smile.

Next I ordered something the resident mixologist called Lullaby. Perfectly aware It’d take an actual stone to rock-a-bye this baby. Still I had to try.

Insomnia held up two fingers with a $50 fluttering between. The mixologist nodded, sending dual Lullabies sliding down the bar.

We caught our drinks one-handed, no sloshing. Insomnia had me trapped. We both knew it was going to be a long night. Only one of us liked the sound of it.

(My friend Kwesi says I was in Bukowski mode with this one. Hey, sometimes the channel you’re on has nothing to do with the TV.)