Runnaway

Oh he can smell it in the air! None’a that crap Janey’s dad sprayed on their lawn, that stuff that made your head hurt. And the stuff she sprayed on herself every morning before she left, god it was awful! If he could tell her how he felt, it made him sneeze and hurt in his skull!

When he comes back, oh it’ll be so degrading! He’ll be washed and the tangles cut out and she always has to do it cause he’s always out in the rain cause it always rains here and the fresh soaked grass smells so much better than Janey and her family and well…its just too bad.

But Caleb, well, he reeks of smoke, yeah, but the fish and the liver! Besides, his smokes not the bad smoke, the white sticks with the burning end and the orange end Janey’s parents always seem so intent on sucking. His smoke is the stuff that’s smoked in those deals that make the bubbling noises and those funny shaped white sticks Caleb and his friends passed around.

Sometimes Caleb blew it in his face. The first few times he’d ran away from it. It made him feel odd and the first time he thought something had gone seriously wrong. By the fourth or fifth time it was fun, Caleb would blow it at him and he’d breathe it in and then he’d get goofy and so would Caleb. He’d bat at Caleb and get bowled over and rubbed on the belly and he’d bite Caleb’s hand and push rhythmically with his back legs.

Eventually he’d get hungry and would go to that big white box with the cold air and food inside and he’d meow and Caleb would pull out some meat and…it was oh so much better than that crap they had at Janey’s!

No, he wouldn’t go back. He loved Janey, but no, he wouldn’t go back.

Morning

Ugghhhhhhhghhhghhgh. Everything spinny. Clock says 9:30. Don’t want to move but don’t want to lie here with the throbbing and spinning, and OH! I ache!
Grass clippings all over bed. In boxers. Makes no sense. Don’t remember anything past, well, shit wasn’t looking at clock, midnight maybe. Blur. Back and forth to keg. Ribs. Ate ribs. Puked em up not much later.
Damn! Streaks over. Made it almost through twenty fist year without, no twenty second year, damn.
Gotta piss. Head throbby and spinny and stomach feels like death.
Side hurts. Stumbling, fumbling, bumbling, mumbling and shouting and acting like an ass. Hope I didn’t do anything stupid.
Thighs hurt. Walk home? Don’t remember.
Down the hall, into bathroom.
Look like shit.
Off with boxers, into shower. Even hurts to shower. Throbby and spinny. Permanent brain damage maybe. Could’ve died. Never know. Fuck. Hungry but vomity.

Open fridge, close it.
Coffee?
Sleep?
Coffee!
Pot!
No pot, smoked it all. Damn.
Stuffed grape leaves. No effort, already made. Ugh, hit stomach like lemon juice. No effort, stuff a few more down. Coffee soon. Restore senses.
Grind beans, boil water, put filter on plastic thingy on mug, pour water. So much effort required. Ugh. Need coffee now. Need brain not hurt. Big fat joint. I wish.
Stuffed grape leaves, banana. Gulp from tap. Throbby and spinny. Coffee. So much effort. Ok, gonna do it.
Fill kettle. Check.
Put on burner. Check.
Grab beans from freezer. Check.
Beans in grinder. Check
Grind them. Loud. Brain calling out in desperation. Throbby and spinny. Check.
Ugh. Where’s plastic thing and my cup? Cup in sink. Plastic thing by waffle maker.
No filter. Filter’s by waffle maker. Put it in plastic thing. Press against sides. More pain in the ass than you’d think.
Beans in filter. Check.
Something real to eat?
Stuffed grape leaves.
Ugh. Ache. Pukey. Throbby and spinny. Waters boiling. Pour it on grounds. Restore senses soon. Feel like death. Could’ve died, stumbling in front of a car or choking on evacuating ribs or just. Doesn’t mean I won’t like that sometime. Whats wrong with me? Countless trips to keg. Could’ve stopped. Don’t need pukey, achey, spinny, throbby and feel like death.
Pour more water on grounds. Drip faster damnit.
It’s ten AM.
Still drunk.
The essence of dishevelitude
That a word?
Prob’ly not.
But alive at least.
And coffees almost done.
And that’s good.