A nice thing about working late is that I completely avoid rush hour. I call this photo, NOT RUSH HOUR.

Man, I still love Hey Ya.

When you are on the subway pretty much by yourself, you can soil your pants and not worry about what others think. You don't have those asshole nine to fivers judging you with their dry pants. You have to worry about guys like this.

Check him out. He's got a Budweiser can in his fucking pocket. You can't offend a guy like that. Let's say he has kids or something, and you curse in front of his little kid without realizing there was a kid within earshot, then you'd see the kid and you'd be like, "Oh, I'm sorry for cursing, I didn't realize you had a child with y- Oh wait, you don't care. You've got a Budweiser in your pocket. Fuck it."

If you go around town with a Budweiser in your denim jacket, you are definitely telling the world something along the lines of, "Hey, I gave up a looong time ago. I've got a beer in my pocket and a mustache. Leave me be."

I imagine he says things like, "Now where did I put my Budweiser? Oh! It's in my pocket! Right where I left it. Silly me."

When I leave my apartment for work, I always check myself by slapping my pockets and saying, "Wallet, keys, phone." Hopefully one day it will just be "Keys, Budweiser."

It is much fun to write about a guy with a beer in his pocket. Just saying it is kind of fun. Beer in pocket. It's kind of like when I tell people that when I was a kid, I got dropped on my head by a retarded guy at a picnic. It's fun to say. I sometimes use it as an excuse for things. I forget to do something at work? Oh sorry. When I was a kid, I got dropped on my head by a retarded guy at a picnic. Sometimes I forget things. On account of that. The picnic. And the retarded guy. Dropped me. On the head.