Chicago Celebacy leads to Booze in Indy Airport

Nodding off in the Indianapolis airport with an empty frosted bottle of cherry vodka propped on the table I sit at. Bubba is sleeping in the squished booth next to me. My back hurts and my eyes refuse to be more than mere slits. A cutie named Ivan in a suit, drivers hat and pants ‘round his ass picked us up at a campground many miles outside of town in a cushy limosine, where we preceded to imbibe in our liquor around 2am. Another 20 minutes ‘til the ticket counters open. I managed to resist making out with any of the many amazing men I met in Chicago. I refused two massages (one in a hot tub and technically in Joliet, not Chicago). I played a grand piano on an empty cruise ship after midnight at Navy Pier, while the hottie captain made me a drink and layed on the leather couch near by. And I resisted. Our cute host, Dave, even on the last night when we sat up late, stoned, watching the Chappelle show with Sparky sleeping next to us: I resisted.
Just in town to return to Jersey to help my parents move out of the house of my childhood days.
Amazing how this road trip adventure of new beginnings, new places and and potential career rebirth simultaneously affords me continual opportunities for closure of so many aspects of my past....