I’m hung over like a cliff, and broke as a cheap Chinese toy, but at least the sun is shinning. It will be dark in four hours; I’ll be asleep in ten, and the whole time I’ll be thirsty for a beer. Water would be better at this point, but I’d sure like a beer. That probably won’t happen though, the part about the beer. I’ll probably wind up face down on a cold slab of concrete, passed out from cheap vodka conveniently stolen from a local convenience store, with an ache in my head and an empty feeling in my heart.
Who knows, maybe I’ll grab a tall can before I walk out of the 7-11 with a bottle of pride concealed in my jacket.
With four hours to kill before dark, I think I’ll head towards downtown. At least down there I can stare at the hookers; I won’t be so fucking bored. There’s a bunch more police down there, but they hardly bother me anymore. Lately they just drive right by, pretending not to notice me or the hookers. They prolly got tired of hauling us in for a free meal and a decent nights sleep. Now I think they spend all their time harassing the teenagers who dress up like rappers or punk rockers. I guess they’re more fun to harass than dirty old men or hookers.
Maybe downtown I’ll run into one of those nutcases who waves a bible around and tells me to fear god. That’s always a riot. The only difference between me and god is he could fix all this shit if he wanted, where I’m just stuck in a cycle of cheap vodka, vomit, and a terrible nights sleep. And I’m real.
What a waste of time, that bible worshipping. I’ve got a feeling most of these bible type guys don’t believe a word of the shit they spew; they’re just looking for something to make them feel good. I prefer vodka, it comes with less strings attached.
I think about quitting most of this shit sometimes. I think about giving up the beer and vodka, the cold nights on the concrete, and the sunny afternoons staring at the hookers. Maybe I’ll get a job working for some old jerk, or maybe a young asshole, like I used to have. Maybe I’ll get nice and clean, start buying my own meals and putting sticky shit in my hair to impress all the people who give a damn about fashion. Maybe I’ll even meet a woman, or track down my ex-wife and our son. I don’t even know how old he is.
That stuff seems nice sometimes, but really its not as nice as everyone tries to make it seem. It’s just as nice to watch the hookers on a sunny day. Maybe the walk downtown will help me sweat out the last remnants of vodka my worn-out heart still pumps. Downtown will be nice today. First I think I’ll get a beer.