Justified carpooling with satanic results

I have yet another work party tonight. I will not get drunk this time, and am even considering the wine route because I'm probably still pissing out beer from several recent mammoth sessions. This party is company-wide and is being held up the street at the Children's Museum, relatively close to my wife's office. So we decided to drive in this morning and park in that area in order to make it easier for me to get home afterward—the party gets out around 8:30 and driving should get me home quite a bit earlier than the 9:30 train would. Plus I'll be forced to be careful with the booze and instead overindulge in free food.

I felt a little bad about driving (and paying for parking, which is quite difficult for me to do) but the pain was eased in Revere when we switched the radio to WMBR just as they'd started a three-song Black Sabbath block. We were treated to "Into the Void," "Planet Caravan" and "The Wizard" by the time we reached the tunnel—far out! (I'm the same guy who nearly lost his shit at another work function—my, but we do drink—because someone played "War Pigs," "Paranoid," "Iron Man" and "Fairies Wear Boots" on the jukebox. And A. is the same girl who dressed up as "Fairies Wear Boots" two Halloweens ago. We are the cutest thing.) I will be in an excellent mood tonight, sipping white wine and stuffing my mouth with mashed potatoes and shrimp. And then maybe I'll get mugged on the way to the car, and as I lie on the cold ground I'll think of the part toward the end of "Into the Void" where the soloing guitar track rejoins the main riff. I will realize that life has meaning. Everything is alright. Then I will drive through the gate because I won't be able to pay the fare.