He enters in a slow stride, as if seven doves flutter past his head through the entrance of the lowly neighborhood watering hole at 4:36 pm on a Tuesday.

Payday.

Looks around to see if he recognizes anyone, all familiar faces, but no names. Gentle nods disguised as a pop in his step, in case the acknowledgment is not returned from the fellow patrons as he drifts past.

Unshaven, dressed in flip flops, gray sweatpants, and a gritty polo shirt, as if his sporty, collared torso will compensate for the socially unacceptable sweats.

He bellies up to a seat in the back corner of the bar with visible access to a TV and earshot of every conversation within 10 yards.

Keys and cell phone placed on the bar to imply he "might" be meeting someone, or coordinating something important Hes not.

Despite having it memorized, he requests a menu. A distraction, so people dont think hes lonely or crazy When in fact hes a bit of both.

Bartenders know him by name and bring him his usual drink before he even orders it.

Then he sits.
And drinks.
And sits some more.

For hours on end, watching and observing the crowds change around him.

Once the booze mixes with the loneliness, he cant help but intrude on the surrounding conversations with his unequivocal rationalization.

He resides in every dive bar across America and throughout the civilized world.

This book is merely a "collection" of his best drunken insight when interrupting a private conversation with his infinite wisdom and unparalleled perspective Or so he thinks.

The context of the conversation has been removed, because in all honesty, it wasnt relevant to his solution anyway

...