Daily Theory on Daily Theory

In another banking career he was the town boozer. In this lifetime, underneath the Irish roots of Flatbush Avenue Brooklyn and beyond the trappings of romanticized drinking, John O'Connor stood alone. I hadn't seen him in 6 years. Our last meeting was on a rainy November night at Fordham College for a musical rendition of The Micada. Most the evening entailed discussing his continued marijuana habit, impotency, and his tour de France glory days ride in the summer of 1987. Last I heard he's working in finance somewhere in Chicago, still chasing the banking career, talking to himself in blank alley ways, along the cold sweeps of Lake Michigan.