Well - Part I

I looked down at the whiskey in front of me as if it might suddenly begin to take on some hostile characteristics. Well, here you are again…three A.M. and too wrecked to navigate and only a few hours before you have to be at work and functional.

How does this happen? You knew when you walked in here that you were destined for trouble. Looking for love in all the wrong places. This is probably not the right way to find your next future ex-wife but, just as surely as the salmon swim upstream, you find a way to sit on this bloody bar stool again.

Oh sure, it was only going to be a few beers with some supper. I might watch a little bit of the ballgame but then I was going to head straight home and to bed at a reasonable hour. You have that one vendor meeting relatively early and you still haven’t finished the monthly report.

Yeesh, this is going to be ugly. You can feel the hangover coming on already. Get some water and pop the Vitamin B. You begin the internal debate as to the relative wisdom of two hours of sleep versus staying up and gutting it out. The body is screaming for the sleep but, the brain is woefully pleading its case that the sleep will only yield more intense fuzziness when arriving at the office a few hours. The logic (so the brain contends) is that getting going again will be roughing then searching out for the third or fourth wind that will come (albeit with not a small amount of discomfort).

First things first. Slide off the barstool and wonder towards the apartment. The crisp morning air is less cruel than you thought it might be. You pass a bum laying in the alley covered with garbage bags snoring loudly. The street lights illuminate the way with little pity towards the ache in your skull. Crossing the street you hear someone’s stereo playing some slow sadly sweet jazz playing through a window somewhere.

One more block to go…very few cars but that’s not surprising given the early hour, you lose the jazz music and detect the sound of garbage men starting their rounds probably a block or two over from your avenue.

Suddenly, the nausea is kicking in. The street and buildings begin that sickening little dance that indicates to you that you might lose that supper you had four and half hours ago. You arrive at your building but don’t think you can face the stairs right now. You begin breathing a little deeper trying to work through the gastro discomfort and clear your head. It appears that you aren’t going to be successful though. You begin to do the little drunkard’s prayer and looking for a spot in the alley to unload.

Oh shoot. There’s definitely a lesson here and you should wake up and take notice of it. How many times has it been this month alone that you find yourself leaning against some cement wall behind a dumpster upchucking a combo of cheap beer and fast food. I’m going to have to make up a story because there’s no way I’m going to be able to get to work now. I need a few hours to let the alcohol work through my system. I’ll call Randy and see if he can cover for me with the vendor.

Just then, I detected a presence in the alleyway. A young kid has risen from the shadows further down the alley and coming up on me fast. I spin around to face him as I feel the first blow to the side of my head. I shout out in pain but there’s another and then another. I raise my hands to attempt to ward off the blows as the darkness falls around me and I lose consciousness. The last thing I recall was a taste in my mouth that was a mixture of vomit and blood.