Tonight it's two for one on all your drink requests whenever the Broncos score. And stand away from the muzzle of the cannon, cause I'll be firing it to celebrate each touchdown. There's no shot in it, but the muzzle blast from the powder will give you double-vision and ringing of the ears.

And it was like Cassady to go in search of Death in the same way he came at life, with a manic grin and a heart full of curiosity, leaving no room for fear- tripping across weathered black ties oozing tar in the Mexican sun, kicking sparks from loose gravel, flipping a sledge hammer into the air to count three and catch it by the handle, his powerful frame drained by the drugs and the sleepless nights, fooling himself that his indomitable will and life/spirit could face up to Death and dog her down, calling, daring Death to come at him and wrestle in the desert, in the magnificent Ratlands where the contrasts were clear - good/evil life/death light/shadow energy/inertia. And only Cassady and Death were party to that last episode, and he was found like Thor fallen with his hammer beside him, with his big fists doubled up and bloodied, and a grin clenched in his face, and with his clouded eyes staring straight up into a sky as blue as the edge of eternity.

I have a little liquid left in this bottle of French Absinthe, Neil, and if you want it, this wormwood's for you, pal.

LEJ