You know that feeling that you get when things are going along pretty well, but in the back of your mind something seems amiss? You can’t quite pinpoint it, but your gut is trying to communicate to your brain that it needs to prepare itself for some impending doom but the old brain box is having none of it, cruising along with blind ignorance and then you look up and there it is. A disheveled slurring drunk asking for not one but three beers, and you don’t even let him finish his sentence. After I explained that it was in the best interest of the bar, and probably himself as well, that I would not be giving him any more drinks for the night, he looked perplexed. Then he perks up and says “Hell man, I ain’t even falling down or nothin! I guess I ain’t in Montana anymore!” I proceeded to explain that it’s not a personal issue, and he’d be welcome to come back tomorrow and try his luck again. Then, not five minutes later, his female companion came in to get a beer and could hardly stand up, falling backwards into the bar a couple of times before she was whisked away by drunken Romeo. Oh, young oblivious drunken love, at least I can be comforted in the fact that they may have been to drunk to make ugly cousin babies, just maybe.