When the pressure of my day is inside me, not like a tangled knot but like a ticking bomb, I need to let it explode somewhere safe. I need to go somewhere it can't do lasting damage - and that's why I have Casey. That's why he has me. When I need to vent I call him up and he knows what's coming. It isn't an exchange, well, not in the same session. I get to yell my fuckin' lungs out and be a vengeful, crass, arse-hole of fury and he sips his beer and nods in the right places. Only when I pick up my pint does he ask me if I'm ready for his perspective and if I am I'll keep drinking, otherwise the shouting starts again. His job is to tell me how he thinks the other side likely felt in my stories, what fears and insecurities may have motivated them, tone me down rather than egg me on. Then I can go back home and talk things through. Sometimes Casey is right, sometimes he's way off, but I can't talk to my wife when I need to explode, she doesn't deserve that. Casey's just the same, he calls me, I go. He vents, I listen. Maybe that's why I'm still happily married and Casey is too. I don't know, it works for us. We don't gossip, no-one knows his secrets or mine. We love our wives, our kids, I dunno, sometimes just getting that rage our is the best thing I can do. It probably comes mostly from work anyway, but I can't go yellin' at the boss now can I?