“I can’t believe that little fucking monkey threw dirt at me. What a fucking prick.”
“Bro, let it go. You keep talking like that, and the monkey wins.”
Jamie was right, after all. The monkey, that little four handed bastard, he was only the end result of another weekend.
Friday. Friday started it all. Friday was just another weekend at first. Rendezvous with Jamie at my place or his, slam a couple of beers and then figure out where to go. We ended up at , which, despite its name I loved for Blackened Chicken Sandwiches. Extra black, some mysterious little sauce on top, BAM! Delicious. Two beers later we left, and I got the feeling that the 17 year old hostess was flirting with me. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe not.
Hours later Jamie and I were slamming beers playing Depth Charge at the kitchen table of some soldier’s house, smashed off of tequila and Coronas. Ever show up unannounced at someone’s house and convince them not only to drink with you but also to drive you to the bars? We got them jumping into a car to stop by a local dive, escorting us to a fast food restaurant where I couldn’t stop giggling ordering things. Fifty dollars later I still hadn’t been able to order the one item I wanted. Fucking Jack in the Box. I remember my evening ending with a DVD of Brisco County Jr. playing hour after hour on loop.
We woke up either independently or collectively, heads not yet throbbing but not yet level. The plan had been to rent a double seated bicycle and tool around Austin. The weather seemed non-responsive. Buckets, cats, dogs, take your pick. It was coming down, just like that Cake song by the same name. With the plan scrapped, we went to the movies. Did some laundry. Drove down to Austin with zero intent on finding a hotel room, just wanting to find an adventure.
Every single time we went to 6th street it ended up being a deluge of liquor. Shot after shot after shot, never in the same bar for very long, always drunk to the point of memory loss. Jamie and I vowed that this time would be different.
So we started out by picking up 40 ounce bottles of Old English, a couple cans of Steel Reserve, and finding word of a “homeless” themed party.
We never made it there.
ive been following your twitter for a very long time. out of all the emotions i feel while reading about your life pity for your liver is the most prevalent.
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