I stumbled ultra-drunk en route to the car I lived in. This sojourn made after nightlife shuttered. After I passed a group of ladies and heard one say she has all the bruises of sex but isn’t having any. I thought of times I kneeled drunk in dirt, scraped my skin, accrued the same sexless signs as her.
On the streets I sorted through boxes atop a trash can to find one with half a doughy pizza. I snapped it up then fed it to gut to soak fermented swill. As I walked beside the river, grub gold in hand, I thought of a goose the night before. One who pecked my leg. An unprovoked attack though perhaps I passed too close.
Now I slurred to self that upon sight I’d grab his neck and end him. Kick corpse to shallows. I knew I wouldn’t do it but still sated self by giving free reign to fantasy. It didn’t matter. The coward was nowhere in sight. My mortal enemy now but an absence. Instead I whipped a scooter over the river rail but upon its splash felt bad. Such a stupid thing to do. I hated them but never litter.
I hopped the fence to step to water. Shoes turned wet and muddy. Buds off a tree stickered to back. I heaved the soaked scooter to land. Tromped to car then ducked to trunk. Peeled wet clothes as best I could, my brain’s marching orders disrupted by an overdose of swill.
The next morning I woke damp and adorned in flora. It took most of the day to remember why. I felt sick and swore off spirits, knowing the promise of those words possessed little power.
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