Last night I was alone after a Chinese take-out Christmas diiner with my young comrades downstairs.
After the dumpling feast I went outside to get some air.
Fifteen minutes later I walked through the door. I was only non-worker in the bar. My two friends greeted me with a smile.
“What’s so funny?”
They pointed to the TV.
“THE SIMPSONS. 1994.”
“Damn.”
One of them served me a Gin-Ginger Ale.
We watched Homer. We laughed. We felt human.
Homer had saved my life during the baby brother’s death of AIDS in 1995 and he saved the night for the three of us in 2020.
Michael Charles Smith loved Homer too.
He made us all laugh and Bart too.
All Hail The Simpsons, because laughter is the only cure for sorrow.