The date is arbitrary, but any excuse for a party

Shortly before the last of my revelers and I left the dive bar, I half-overhead a group of guys at the tall tables behind us.

"You've gotta trust the government," one said. There was no cue as to whether he was being sincere, or sarcastic, or if it was (as I wasn't quick enough to catch, but our bud Al did) an allusion to "Comfortably Numb," which had played a song or two ago on the Crappy TouchTunes System (TM).

The next thing I heard was "grow my own wheat." At first I doubted myself, and wondered if he'd said "weed." But the phrase got repeated, and it was obviously wheat.

Then a reference to Taco Bell, and "I could be a super-human."

I said out loud, "I'm not going to get this written down before I forget." But apparently, just saying that was the magic trick.

Then we all bundled up and went out the back door to walk home. You're never to old to enjoy hollering goodbye to your friends on an icy street at one in the morning, when the whole world is dark and cold and asleep.