I Swallowed It Whole.

     I'll make this brief, because it's unpleasant and ongoing.

     I have a birthday coming up, and my buddy Woody thought a quick beer at the beach this afternoon made perfect sense. I thought it was an imperfect idea, but knew with a couple of beers, we could shine that apple up to teacher-ready bright.

     Soccer was on an outside big-screen, and all the English people were loud. We ordered a couple of beers. Bees were buzzing around, and they always freak me out. I got up, I sat down, I walked around, and I never got stung.

     It was a good day.

     Windy, though. 

     Woody's beer was in a pint glass; mine in a bottle. We talked about work, soccer, women, and beer. And I took another sip.

     Have you ever seen the Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry David is filming with Martin Scorsese? The one where he has, um, something stuck in his throat?

     That was me, today, without the benefit of sex with Larry's wife. 

     Somehow, thanks to the wind, some kind of skinny little leaf blew into the tiny hole of my bottle of Tapatio-laced, lime-kissed Pacifico, rather than the wide-open, welcoming chasm of Woody's horrid, warm American light beer.

     Now I had a leaf stuck in my throat. Even my voice sounded different.

     The waitress looked at me and stifled a laugh. Woody was already laughing. The leaf stayed silent, and seemed quite comfortable right where it was.

     Some time later, Woody and I left. We walked the Strand back to the Village. We caught a little of the Lakers-Spurs game at a local haunt.

     Woody and I watched; the leaf lodged.   

     It's hours later. I'm typing this. I'm making hacking noises like Larry David. I still have a leaf in my throat.

     I have a leaf in my throat!

     If a tree ends up growing out of my ass, I'll need help trimming it, and those gas leaf blowers seem so environmentally unsound.