There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.
They don’t curl my hair, they do, however, make me look like I’ve rubbed a balloon all over my head in an effort to build up enough static cling to stick the balloon to the wall. It does make my skin itch though, and curls up the corners of unframed photos, and I do get really edgy. Hadn’t considered the fight/knife thing, but it sounds about right.