Porter is the patron saint of bad choices. We met on the floor of a party playing Jenga. He was passing around his handle of Jameson, making everyone take a sip.
He is one more shot that becomes three or four.
He tells you that you have more money than you actually do.
When you wake up from a night of his fuckery, you don't remember who you were before and sure as hell don't know who you are at that moment.
The hangover gets quelled with brunch as you try to piece together the missing parts of the evening.
He can never get enough of it, but doesn't believe you've had your fill the moment you made the choice to hang out with him.
At the same time, if you're ever too much for yourself and you need a night like the ones they make in movies, you know who to call.
You might not be the same after a tryst with his song and dance, but you always somehow make it home.
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