S w e e t n e s s

Gwen and I talked about how things have been going, I’ve Been Very Depressed. Was it I or she who said that? Anyway, I’m Always Very Depressed.

I realized that the subway car rushing behind me carried away a winter hat I had left on the seat. It disappeared into the darkness and I hauled ass down the ugly dank corridors of the second avenue station. Finally I was breathing autumn and cab fumes.

After half the number of whiskies it took to kill Dylan Thomas, I staggered across the street to the Curry Wurst and ordered some curry wurst and fries. Just the thought of curry wurst and fries, curry wurst and fries made me have to stagger to the wooden bathroom door and hurl chunks all over it. Gwen came over and helped my inside and brushed my hair as I heaved into the toilet.

I settled down tumultuously after an eternal cab ride and Gwen said my breath smelt like sour wine.

Hung over, I stared at myself in the little monitor hooked up to the security camera above the self-checkout line of the Home Depot and thought, This Mustache Is Crooked. Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?

One afternoon later I was hung over in the downstairs living room while my roommate played Neu Kraft on his keyboard.

B a r k i n g . . .