late awaking, waiting into late night, continue.

The clock read 9:35am when I woke up.

fuck

Jumped up and flipped the cell open. Called work. Talked to my boss.

"Hey, it's george."

"Hey." I can hear he's not thrilled, but he doesn't seem super pissed.

"Dude, I'm so fucking sorry. My alarm didn't go off. I'm getting myself together and I'm gonna hop a cab. I'll be there soon."

"Ok, see you then." he said, with no anger in his voice ata ll. I felt relieved. This won't be too bad.

I felt like shit, as usual. I had been out drinking a lot longer then I planned. Passed out around sometime AM after signing up online for a free Johnny Walker taste test coming up at some hotel. Sweet, sweet whiskey. Sweet, sweet free booze.

I threw myself in the shower and it hurt. My eyes stung and I wiped the crusty, aqueous fluid [yeah, I just looked that up], from the corners of my eyes. Jumped out, dressed. Flew out the door. Ran back inside. Grabbed my sunglasses. That's the fucking sun out there and it hurt like a sun'ov a bitch.

I got to work within the hour and clocked in. Things were going as normal. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. I staggered around, drank a lot of water from the cooler and popped a painkiller. I hadn't eaten. This was the first water I had since I drank some of the shower water.
I catch my boss and start chuckling. She smiles and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry bro. I know how much you hate this." He's still smiling.

"You've been looking like shit for the past three months," he starts to say. I laugh and rub my face with both hands.

"I know, I know..." I say, humbly.

"You gotta clean yourself up. Get your act together."

"yeah... I'm sorry man." I'm apologetic. He's a good boss and only asks us to follow one golden rule, and that's be there on time, or call when you're gonna late. I fucked up.

"Just don't make a habit of it." he finishes.

"You know I won't." I answer.

The rest of the day goes fast, and before I know it, I'm out and running. Hop on the bus, flipping the collar up. Get off downtown, and start walking home. It was getting cold out, and had been very windy the past two days.

I was walking south, towards the park, when I realized I was about to walk by this girl's work. I had been talking to her online a few times, and I wanted to get to know her more. A lush and hot as hell. Single. Curses like a sailor. She sounded like a perfect match. I wanted to do something, but needed courage. needed booze. A small bar sat underneath a hair salon, and I walked down the stairs. It wasn't quite open. No patrons, the lights were somewhat up and someone was mopping the floor. They were playing some generic DJ soul meets hip hop meets dance music.

"Is the bar open?" I ask, pointing at the small bar to my left.

"Yeah. You can get a drink. I'll get the bartender" he says, and goes off to get her. I smoke a cigarette and stand. No need to sit. I'll be in and out. I just need the booze in me, not savor it. A lady in a red flannel shirt and khaki pants comes out and walks behind the bar.

"What'll be be?"

"Shot of tullymore and a guinness." I say. She puts down a shot glass and a bottle of guinness. I'm not a fan of bottled guinness, but fuck it, it would do. She turns around and pulls out the bottle of tullymore dew. I watch her pour the golden irish whiskey in the glass. A tall shot, easily a double shot. I drink some of the guinness and then lift the shot. I bring it to my lips and knock my head back. One gulp, two gulps, it's gone. Big shot. It cascades down my throat and the burning gives me life. I feel it settle in my stomach, and I hold onto that feeling for a moment before smothering the whiskey fire with more guinness. A minute passes. I don't sit down. Another minute and it's all gone. She rings me up. 7 bucks for the shot. 7 fucking bucks for a shot?! I think. 5 bucks for the guinness and it wasn't even a pint.

This bar fucking blows I thought. I knew it to be a trendy weekend bar for the faux-sophisticates, which thankfully, were not around at that moment.

Yeah, this bar fucking sucks.

I paid, tipped and bounced out of there. Up the stairs, onto the streets of men in monkey suits darting around.

I walked south, towards the park.

I passed by her work, and looked into the store. Two girls were behind the counter. One definitely wasn't her. The other I thought was. I kept walking. The booze hadn't run it's course yet. The courage wasn't available. I walked around the corner, paused, then turned back around.

Oh yeah, there it is...

I walk as a man with purpose and strolled into the store.

"hello," both the girls say at once. I look at the one I thought was her, and say her name.

"no, she's not here right now, but she'll be in at 6. Can I take a message?" I look at her, the booze entering my blood stream, being pumped wildly through my body from my heart.
I am the confidence of a million playboys. I am pure rock n' roll.

"yeah," I say, looking around, "You got a piece of paper and pen?"

"Sure," she hands me a flyer and a pen. "You can write on the back of this."

I start writing.

"Come and get shit-faced 
with me at tattoo moms 
tonight.

-george
267-xxx-2992"

I hand it back to the girl and smile.

"thanks"

"sure thing."

I turn and leave, the night continues. I wait for her to call.

the call never comes.