I live in the drinkinest town around… Hatboro. Everyone parties way too hard, for way too long. It has one of the highest bars to people ratio I’ve ever seen… and I don’t mean, “Indeed, that was a refreshing snifter of brandy, old chum!” type of places. I mean “I think that fucking old guy that’s passed out on the floor just shit his pants!!” type places. That’s why I love it here sometimes.

The cold air viciously whipped against my face as I quickly strode through the center of town. There was no time for pleasantries, as there were things that needed to be done. I had a pack of wolves back at my bar, howling and baying at the moon, waiting to tear everything I loved dearly to pieces. Sometimes you don’t throw a party, it throws you. It reaches a certain point where you no longer control it, and the beast needs to be fed. These are the high impact times, the sensory overloads, the dangerous, scary times… the times that I thrive off of.

There is a certain freedom that accompanies completely handing yourself over to being helplessly intoxicated, and the asylum now residing in my apartment was a byproduct of that.

I stepped into the bar as all eyes turned. “Outsider” I could almost hear the chorus of their thoughts mutter. There will always be the two classes of drunks, the ones that maintain and shine brightly, and the ones that crash and burn. This bar was full of the latter and having the former walk through the doors just reminds them of who they have become. I closed the door as slowly as I possibly could and walked up to the bar like I owned it. If one’s not careful in a predicament like this, a friendly jaunt down to the corner bar to get six packs can turn deadly in 3 seconds flat.

I eyed the grizzled bartender and loudly demanded several six packs. He limped over to me and plopped the beers on the bar holding out his clammy, calloused hand. From the corner of my eye I could see an old woman had vomited into her colostomy bag and several games of darts had started to turn ugly. The faces surrounding me were hideous caricatures of human emotion, closing in on me, screaming, laughing… menacing. It was heating up in here, and it was time for me to take my leave.

Escaping the confines of the filthy, sweaty tavern, I commenced on my walk home. Strange things were in the air. Cars, belching flames from their exhausts, screeched as they darted and raced down the lonely streets, screams from parties and from fights echoed across the void.

The beer was more of an afterthought. I had recently taken a liking to whiskey and water. There was something charming in its simplicity and in its skull crushing ability to get me wasted. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had had all night. The feeling of dread, of emptiness. Everything tonight came back to it… that awful, awful familiar feeling.

I braced myself as I approached the threshold of my apartment. One can never be too careful before walking into a situation that could turn hostile. Everything seemed under control. Music blasted from the speakers and people drunkenly screamed over it to each other. I threw the sixes in the fridge and brought one out for Jen. I had so much catching up to do.

Jonny O
June 16th, 2005