Thursday, April 19, 2012

One would think that looking down the barrel of a gun would bring a bit of anxiety. Most of the time that would be true, but in this case, it warrants casual disregard. It's not that I think the person holding the gun will not pull the trigger, it is really that I just don't care.
My day started out with a bad drive to work, being met at the door by HR and security, losing my job because of a coworker with a grudge. A shittier drive to a bar. An excessive amount of alcohol, even worse drive halfway to my empty, underwater, home with the remainder being on foot. Police pounding on my door, no doubt in reference to my car being parked in a telephone pole, a jog out the back door and down the alley. Continuous vomiting. more running and vomiting. Finding another bar and then being thrown out for lude and lascivious behavior, or disorderly conduct. or both. More walking and vomiting. Asking schoolkids where I can score some drugs and them pointing the way. Buying some sort of powdery substance from a sketchy looking toothless grinner and a quick ingestion. A quick up, a fight ensues and me leaving a drug den with some money, drugs, and a hand full of what I think is hair. More running and vomiting. A visit to a corner market, grabbing some bagged food items, throwing down the drugs on the counter, picking them up and throwing down some money. Eating various foods out of bags and leaving a trail for anyone to follow.
Several hours of black.
Awaking to find a gun pushing my eyebrow into my head.
A brief sense of regret? Too late for that now....

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