You wake up Saturday morning without an ache in your brain. You tell yourself you want to keep this feeling for the rest of the weekend. You do laundry, you write a couple of songs, and you record one of them. You think about the quiet night you'll have that'll follow this perfect quiet day. But then your phone buzzes. It's your best friend. He tells you he's back in town.
You are sitting in a quiet enough bar (it's only quiet enough because there is a terrible rock-rap-reggae fusion band playing) in your hometown with your hometown friends. They don't like the music either but they are happy the three of you are out. You haven't seen them in over a year and it feels good to finally catch up and have a drink.
You tell them about your new job and how you love it there. They tell you about their new jobs and how they love them. You start clinking glasses together and you do it so much that it sounds like the three of you are in a band of your own.
You remind yourself not to drink too much. You've spent the better part of the last two weeks drinking and being hungover so you remind yourself again. Don't drink so much.
An hour passes and you have already drank way too much. The laughter and the terrible band fill your ears. A random bar patron sees you on your phone next to the pool table as you wait in line for the bathroom and they tell you, "this is a no phone zone". They laugh at themselves and you laugh with them. You don't remember his name. Maybe it was Alex.
No, it wasn't. You can't really remember how you got here. Everything starts fading a little bit as you stand in the bathroom to relieve yourself. You try not to "fall in". You laugh to yourself again and spit on the floor (because you're punk rock).
You stumble back, you stumble back, you stumble back to your friends and you see a fresh pint waiting for you at the bar. You notice an old coworker and laugh to yourself. You remember how she hates her job and how you don't hate your current one.
You drink this beer faster than the other ones you've had because you think you're going home after this (you aren't). You suggest getting something greasy to eat down the block. You inhale whatever you have left in your glass and walk out of the bar.
While taking drags of the death stick in your mouth, things get wavier, softer, and louder. Everything loses focus (you feel cinematic). Your brain is trying to retain the sights and sounds and smells but it isn't working. No, it isn't working. You stumble towards a red door and enter. You make conversation with every person that you see. You become confidence. You laugh internally. Externally, you hug your best friend and kiss his forehead. You tell him you love him. Things start to fade again.
You look down at your hands. Once. And back up at your friends. Your body moves on its own. Twice, down. Back up at your friends. You still aren't registering what is happening. Third and last time, down. You're holding three glasses of bourbon. You don't know how you got these or who paid for them. You shoot back the alcohol and nothing happens. You don't feel the burn in your throat you used to feel, instead it tastes good. Like you could use another one.
You're trying to hold a conversation. You're trying to hold a conversation. "wait, wait, wait, you know, like, you know, like, uh, you know" That is how you sound. A tall blonde wearing all black taps your shoulder and hands you a cigarette. You step outside to smoke and the haze eats your skull. You sit on a wet bench and the sky has become the pavement. Up is down. Black is white. Nothing is right in your head.
You extend your hand and she reads your palm: You will live a long life. You will fall in love. You will get married. You will have three kids (one boy, twin girls). You have strong hands. She drops a kiss on them. You return the favor.
Your friends come outside and tell you they're leaving. You say goodbye to your stranger/friend. As you pile into the car, you pop an old CD into the stereo and scream your favorite song into the night: