we made deals, we broke promises

Monday, Dec. 08, 2003 9:53 pm

The city was frozen to fuck and my mouth led an open revolt of mumbles against the ice and the difficult conditions it created to walk around drunk on. This was after I had fallen twice, the last time having given me a small cut under my eye. I took my right glove off and wiped my cheekbone. A smear of blood across the back of my hand stared at me. I laughed at it, put my glove back on. My body should of been freezing but I was far, far too drunk to notice that. There was a quarter of whiskey left in my flask and 9 beers at my body's steering wheel. There was no time for such things as being cold. Fuck cold. It was a real Robert Frost night, some Stopping By The Woods on a Snowy Evening shit. Fuck snowy evening poetry and fuck Robert Frost.

My legs waved, my eyes rolled. There was the bridge above me now and the roar of cars and a subway train shook overhead. I grabbed hold of a fence and straighted myself.

It's midnight, no, 1 am... no, wait... what time is it anyway? What street am I near? Is this place familiar or...

Such a little world, and I can't believe how many times I've gotten lost in it.

The bright lights of downtown flashed and blinked a handful of blocks away. The movement of crowds was nothing more then random colors in a blender. They swirled, they swayed they pulsed. I spun to the right, hand still gripping the fence, feet almost slipping out from under me again, and threw up.

Fuck... I coughed between the first and second wave of vomit. I spat and cursed and I gagged and I threw up again.

god - DAMNIT. I spat then wiped my mouth. A pause, a deep breath. Breathe, just breathe. I stood under the bridge and it's roar of machines above, filth below, around me. I was holding onto the fence like it was my only friend left and it was trying to leave me behind. I stood under the bridge, doubled over and breathed. My legs were trying to buckle, trying to bring me closer to the ground and it's filth, but I resisted. I held onto my last remaining friend and breathed. I spit once more, then stood up. I let go of the fence and pulled out the flask, opened the lid and drank from it. I swished the whiskey around in my mouth, getting the chunks of vomit out from between my teeth, and swallowed it all. My eyes were watered to near blindness and I wiped them away. A sting ran across my face as I brushed against the cut on my cheek. I winced and took another drink. Warm, warm. I faced the direction I had been heading, south that is, and started walking, staggering, again. Towards the people. Coming to the people.

Watch it, asshole someone said as I stumbled into a body and kept walking.

Fuck off was my reply, and I waved my arm out, dismissing them.

I always hated crowds. I wanted, needed, my space. I especially hated these crowds. So full of themselves, so consumed with their own arrogance and the good looks they all think they have. They are consumed with themselves and I am consumed with detesting them. Fuckers, every last one of them. But I had to move through them to get... somewhere. I had forgotten where I was going. I knew I was heading south and had probably switched into the default "make your way towards home" plan. It was impossible to be certain.

I paused on the corner and lit a cigarette. This was her stomping ground, her friends, her good times, her sex and her boys. I spat but not to rid the taste of vomit from my mouth.

Where were you when I needed you the most?
Where were you when I needed your hands on me?
Where were you when I needed you,
to tell me that I was making viciously abusive mistakes.
Where were you when I was here,
when I needed your help the most?

You were here. You were here.

Do you remember?

Because I always do, even though I wish I could forget. I can't sleep at night because I can't forget all the things I did wrong. All the mistakes we made and that I'll always love you and you broke my heart.

The light turned green, and my my body started to move.

It was hard to rid myself of the bitter and spiteful emotions when I was clear of the crowds. I drank up and watched the snow and ice. I pulled the glove off and pressed my palm against my cheek. The cut had stopped bleeding.

I realized, that at this point, my life had started to consist entirely of watching other people and waiting for them to fall on the ice. In some strange way, it helped me walk better, like not looking at the cup of coffee as you carry it.

Shapes, buildings, particular cracks in the sidewalk began to hold some degree of familiarity and I pieced my location together. Not far from home. Not far, just a dozen or so minutes longer. It was possible to get home. I stumbled down an alley with a pale blue light bleeding into it from one end, and into a shadowed corner, strewn with trash. I unzipped my pants and pissed on the wall, exhaling with a sigh of relief. I swayed in place, and put my hand against the wall, leaning, to steady myself. Finished up, then crept out of the alley and onto the street, lighting another cigarette.

Cops drove by and my vision was a strobe light of fragmented reception. I didn't know if I was blinking long and slow, or if I was blacking in and out. the police car jumped frames down the street and then was gone. I felt cold in my toes and drank up the whiskey. No time for that, no time for cold. No time to feel, no time for feelings. There was nothing systematic about this destruction. It was a napalm carpet bomb waged against every thing that existed inside of myself. My organs, my blood, my heart my head my thoughts my emotions.

Raze it all! To the ground, you fucker! my mind yelled.

I laughed and I staggered for minutes more and I found my home and I fell through the door.

I hit my head on the couch and rolled to the side, groaning. My hands went to work, stripping the clothes off of myself. My hat had fallen off when I hit the floor. I wrestled with my coat, slipping out of it with the motions of a wounded insect. My hands, my stupid numb and useless hands, grabbed the scarf and pulled, choking myself briefly before it tugged free and I threw it across the room. I breathed, the room was spinning and I felt the need to hold on. I started to chuckle as I pulled myself up and leaned against the couch. I fumbled with my bootlaces and yanked at them, loosening them up enough to pull my feet out. Left, then right, chuckling, and then paused.

I stared at the ground, between a few drips of dirty snow, at a long strand of cherry blonde hair twisted around a few times. I leaned forward and picked it up between my thumb and index finger, pulling it closer to my face, squinting at it.

you must of slipped into my boot...

The chuckles faded into a frown and dropped my head along with my sinking heart. My hand lowered and I let the strand of hair fall to the floor.

The night ended like the day began. Passing out on the couch, half dressed, trying not to cry, trying not to think.


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dland exuant omnes your voice drifts away into lost binary alleyways it echoes photography

last five:
A Winter Letter - Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2007
almost but not quite - Wednesday, Mar. 22, 2006
rural times, blue skies. it feels so warm over my hair - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005
smiles and gone - Monday, Feb. 07, 2005
I caught my love in North Carolina - Monday, Nov. 29, 2004

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