Never stay out drinking, 'cause this is what happens...

This is a little experiment gone wrong, but there are parts of it I really like that wouldn't work on their own, so here's the whole thing. My abomination of grammar, proper story-telling, and also a departure form my usual first person narration.
Due to some explicit content, reader discretion is advised.

You step into the shower. Turn on the water, not really caring whether it’s hot or cold, because damn, you are so hung over that nothing can be worse than the headache you’re having. It takes you a while to find the plastic bottle you were looking for, takes even more time to open it, and a hell of a lot of effort to squeeze its gooey contents out on your hand. The shower gel is yellow. A shade of yellow similar to that of thick urine you watched exiting your body a minute ago, still half asleep, just standing there and passing the remainder of last night’s drinks of which you had one too many, thinking, Oh God, I hate Mondays. And holding that shower gel in your hand, letting it slowly flow down your wrist and right down to your elbow, letting it drip down from in between your fingers, that’s when you remember all the things you did last night. You see a somewhat shaky image of yourself drinking shit with your buddies, and while there are bits and pieces of the evening missing, you can still remember one thing very vividly. Your old time friend you used to mock because you knew she wouldn’t stay mad at you, that girl you always thought was just a friend you sometimes have fun with, well now you remember that last night she seemed an awful lot more attractive than usual. Last night you thought you could marry her right then and there. Be with her for the rest of your sorry excuse for a modern, exciting life. Or you could’ve just screwed her right there on the spot. Last night you thought, to hell with all those skinny blond bitches that spend more time shopping than breathing, fuck all beauty queens and models and anorexic actresses. You don’t need any of that, because you have this girl you now realize is so hot in a strange, ordinary kind of way, that you were ready to pronounce her the Most Beautiful Person in the whole world. That’s right. You were that drunk. Only, hey, here’s the catch. It wasn’t just all the booze thinking for you. You’re pretty much sober right now, and you still can’t get her out of your mind. And you ask yourself, what’s wrong with me? And then later, no, why should there be anything wrong with me? I sort of noticed her good looks even before I got drunk, so I can’t be wrong, right? Only, the thing is, you don’t know anything right now, except that you have to pour more gel in your palm because what you managed to squeeze out of the bottle with your shaking hand the first time is now gone, most of it all around your feet dissolving in the lukewarm water, and you just can’t, seriously man, you just cannot think about her today. Not today. Because today is your job interview. Yes, you moron. It’s your job interview today and you spent the whole night drinking and dancing your ass off with a bunch of people you’d probably hesitate to call friends in case they don’t think the same way about you and it would be sort of embarrassing. So now you start actually showering instead of just standing there and wasting expensive water, and after you finish that, you shave your ordinary face and brush your relatively normal-looking teeth and then you get dressed in one of your slacks, shirt, and causal jacket because you want to create the impression of an easy going, cool kind of guy, not a person who is desperate to get the job because otherwise he’ll be just another loser who’s not doing the job of his dreams (which this interview is totally not about) and not studying what he intended to because all your quasi friends told you that’s not the right thing for you and you just really want to please everyone, don’t you? And now that you are already late, and still thinking about that suddenly very attractive friend of yours you think you love but somewhere deep down you know it’s just temporary, you get on the bus and you realize another thing that all sorts of sucks. The person who’s taking you to the interview, the person who has the connections and arranged this thing for you, is another person you thought you loved back in the day, before your maybe friend started dating her and you found out that she’s nothing for you, but you still feel sort of uneasy around her and you try to be nonchalant when you’re with her, but she finds that very cute and she’s always coming onto you and although you like that, you resist the temptation because you know how it would end, but now you have to spend time with her and be thankful and do all that stuff you got to do when someone tries to save your miserable ass. So when you get off the bus in front of the building and meet her there at the door finishing a cigarette she will not admit to have smoked, suddenly you find yourself thinking about two girls in ways you never did before or never wished you did. And isn’t that just a marvelous start of your week? But don’t forget where she is taking you right now, where this hall leads to, where this elevator will take to, where you almost run to because by now you are fucking late; don’t you forget that it’s your job interview today and it almost started without you.

You’ve always been the kid everyone saw potential in, but you never really managed to live up to those ideas your relatives and supposed friends had about you. You never managed to start going in the right direction. The problem was that you didn’t want to do what others told you to do, not because you thought you were supposed to control your destiny yourself, but because you never really wanted others to think that they helped you and that they are the cause of your good fortune. But now you finally realized that this approach got you nowhere, so here you are sitting in the office of some guy who is offering you a job you are actually interested in, and never mind your girl friend (but not girlfriend) standing there next to you, because you are now finally ready to take advice from others and be thankful for things. So you answer all the standard questions about past experiences and where do you see yourself in five years career-wise, and all that crap you prepared for, and then he asks you friendly questions, and irrelevant questions, and funny questions, and you realize, this being not your first or last realization today, that things are going well and your future boss is a cool guy and you really not only need but suddenly also sincerely want this job.

So after the interview is very successfully over, you invite your friend to coffee or something, you know, to thank her, but you really expect and also kind of wish that she would decline because she doesn’t have time or because no thanks, that’s not necessary, glad to help you, but she actually said yes, so now you’re stuck with her in a nearby café. Your headache returns with a bang and as she talk and talks and forever just talks about things you don’t care about but pretend you do, your mind drifts far away, to yesterday’s little party. To how you wore a suit after a pretty long time and remembered how cool you look in it, to how this wasn’t actually supposed to be such a wild celebration, to how you did shots with your best maybe friend, to not remembering exactly what the occasion was anyway. Somehow you managed to actually forget what the party was about, but still you can’t get one face out of your head. Now that’s just messed up, man. You need to focus on something else besides that nice and sincere smile that just sort of invites you over to her place to do stuff with her you can’t even imagine doing with her because somehow she never really was the center of your sex-dreams world. For some reason, her breasts also come to your mind. They’re pretty, as far as you could tell through the dress, not too big but definitely not small, them probably being the best part of her slight chubbiness, although she’s far from fat, more like just simply not thin. Yes, that’s it. You got parts to grab her by, but she’s not overweight at all. What she actually is, you now once again realize, can only be described as perfect and ideal. Earnest, pretty, funny, unreachable because even if you did hook up with her, you’d be the laughing stock of your pseudo friends, because although you guys hang out with her, some of you also make fun of her and mock her in a no, I’m just kidding kind of way and no one would accept the idea that you’re dating her. It’s like dating your cousin or something. At least to them.

And finally you get rid of your company and the thank you visit to the café is over. You were seriously losing all hope that she would ever shut up and just finish her espresso, but now she gets up and thanks you even though you’re the thankful one, and then she leaves and you pay the bill and go to the men’s room, where you watch yourself pass whatever’s left of last night’s shots and also probably some of your breakfast orange juice and the water you had in the office half an hour ago, although maybe it’s too early for that to be leaving your body just now. And as you stand there holding your cock, your dick, your dog, your wiener, your tail, your little you, and maybe even your penis, you think of her again, and it could be the last bits of alcohol exiting your system, or it could just be common sense, but anyway, you remember that she is not really the girl of your dreams at all and that sometimes she reminds you of one guy your one true friend hangs out with a lot, a guy you’ve met and somewhat befriended but who is just as unattractive as the girl you are now going to stop thinking about. Instead, you recall other things from last night. Like when half of your not really friends started winking at each other and saying things under their breath and you knew they were talking about you and probably discussing either how to get rid of you or how you’re no fun. This of course makes you angry, because sometimes, when these guys want something, you’re their best buddy, but now they are excluding you from their little group, and although you have been having fun right up until now, this attitude of theirs really just spoiled your evening. And maybe that’s why you started noticing that girl you already wasted half a day on when you couldn’t get her out of your head. And as you leave the bathroom, with all of yesterday’s party now crystal clear to you, you have another one of those epiphanies, those sudden realization you somehow keep having all day. You realize that you hate everyone. You hate the girl for messing up your mind. You hate your associates for not being your friends. You hate this other girl because although she got you a cool job, she just had to order the most expensive coffee they had. You hate the guy who just came in to take a piss because he temporarily interrupted your flow of ideas about who you hate and why. But now you finish urinating and you leave the bathroom and the café and you remember you hate everyone on the street. Oh, and, yeah, that’s right, you almost forgot. You hate yourself, too. You hate yourself because you let all this shit happen to you. You let yourself think that a bunch of cool kids are your friends and you let yourself fall in love with every other bitch from school and you let yourself go ahead and party with all these people who don’t even know you properly, because you wear a bit of a mask in public, don’t you? Because you know no one would like the real you. You know this because you hate yourself. And hate yourself you should. Hate every inch of your body. Hate every bit of your character. You suck. And it’s a shame, really, because everyone saw so much potential in you, they expected so much crap from you, and what do you do instead of achieving something? You go out with some people and then you question your whole life the next day. That is so you, man, that is so typical.

This The Night I Almost Died

It is night and I have been drinking. Not so much that I would call myself drunk, but definitely tipsy. Walking straight is no problem, although I occasionally trip over some small imperfection of the pavement, one I would most likely spot if I were fully sober and if it were day.

The date is late October, that being not much of a date, just a mere setting to indicate what the weather is and what the atmosphere of the leaf-covered, windy street is. As I walk I see no decorations for the upcoming holiday, but I do sense a strange presence of spirits living inside houses that stand along each side of the road, crumbling under the weight of their age.

A sound startles me suddenly and I stop to look around, half afraid, half ashamed of my fright. I see no one behind me, not a soul anywhere before me, and not a living thing in the windows of these Houses of Usher that surround me. To shake off the unsettling feeling of being watched, I check the time and resume walking in a faster pace.

Many steps away from where I encountered the noise, maybe halfway down the street, a silhouette becomes visible on the horizon. At first, it is nothing more than a black spot moving slowly in the dim light of the few street lamps still working in this godforsaken part of town. But as we walk towards each other, the spot turns into a dark figure, which now steps into a cone of yellow light that reveals the features of a mustached man in his fifties, wearing a dark coat, black bots, gloves, and a hat.

I tell myself not to panic, but panic I do as only a few steps are now the distance between us. So sudden was the appearance of this man, only a few minutes it took before he was before me, that I did not have time to think about who he was and what were the dangers of walking past him. Now, when it is too late, when our close encounter is inevitable, my mind is flooded with unease and with ideas that give me a cold sweat.

On this night of nights, on a street covered in darkness that is only rarely penetrated by a dying light, I become sure that this man will stop me to mug me or even to kill me with a knife already covered in the blood of a madman’s innocent victim. Three steps are now the distance between us, not more than two or three meters before our paths cross.

Oh ghosts of abandoned houses! You who killed yourselves long ago to escape the unbearable life of the poor, you who died peacefully in your beds at night not knowing it was your last night before the Judgement comes, you nocturnal creatures invisible to the living, please accept me as one of your own, for I am about to die by the hand of man suspicious in looks and behavior.

I look at him, ready to be stabbed, and he looks at me and tips his hat to bid me a good evening. That is our whole encounter. He is now walking behind me, on his way to wherever he is headed, and so am I, making the distance between us ever so greater with each step.

Maybe I have, after all, been drinking more than I thought.