Tom Waits - "Pony"

Many of you won’t be interested in this story, others might, perhaps.
But bringing home a totally drunk friend, trying to convince him that at this hour biking in the pouring rain sent from above isn’t a good idea, I find to be a very satisfying challenge.
Especially because I was just as drunk as he was: but I had a car, he had a bike, and after seven license suspensions he’ll never be able to drive a car for the rest of his life.
He wanted nothing to do with my idea: “I’m biking home,” he tells me.
In the end, we reached a compromise.
He would take his bike to his ex-wife’s house—just two kilometers from where we’d been drinking heavily—and then I would drive him home.
Too bad I had not the faintest idea where the hell that woman lived.

I followed him up to a certain point: then he just vanished into the downpour.
Fuck!
I circled the block forty times: until he popped out in front of me, hitchhiking.
Pissed off, soaked like a porn star in heat: he said every curse in the book!

Why this story?
Because once I brought him home, I didn’t remember where I was—just two hundred meters from my own place.
It was my old Toyota Aygo that found the way home! lui: sapere: punto: volte: calore: