Against popular belief, I have real friends, in real life.   I just don't hang out with them... at least until this weekend.  See my best friend has been an alcoholic since she was 12.  She has a kid now, but that doesn't mean she's done partying.  Every now and then she calls me up, and tries to get me to come back to my home town, for some drinking.   The issue with that is, it costs me $40 in cab fare, there and back, and I live within a 5 minute walk to 4 bars, two of which I can see from my living room window.  Why the hell would I go and spend $40 to go to a bar in my home town, when I can just go to these places?   But I hadn't seen my best friend in almost a year now, and I felt like having some fun, like the good ol days.

So I call my Dad, and he picks me up.  I visit with my family for a bit, then wander over to the bff's house to get ready for our night on the town.  Saturday was karaokee night at her favourite tavern, nick named the wrinkle ranch... for obvious reasons.  I like karaokee, it's fun, and allows me to put my vocal training to some use.  Same goes for my best friend... except she can't sing worth shit.  Years of drinking has ruined her voice, but she just doesn't know it.   But it's all in good fun.

What I thought our plans were, was, we were gonna walk to the bar, have a few drinks, and then sing some tunage.  I was wrong. We were walking... just not to a bar.   My, taken, best friend of a whore, thought it would be fun to go back to the really old days, where we were stupid, niave, and just out to have fun.  She informed me that we were heading to a house party, at her friends house.  A gut feeling told me that, I would much rather be going to a bar right about now, than to someone unknown person's house.  My family thinks I'm going to the wrinkle ranch for some karaokee...  I was starting to get nervous... just like the good ol days.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that we were walking through alley ways, and shitty neighborhoods to get to this guys house.

So eventually we get to this guys duplex apartment.. and it is a far cry from a house party.  Instead of the promised, fun loving, awesome people she spoke of,  there were a mere 4 sketchy dudes who looked to be about 35 and older. I had no idea what drugs they were on.  But they were obviously fucked up on something.    I didn't want to be there at this point.  But it's where my buddy wanted to be, and I felt guilty for not hanging with her for as long as I hadn't.  I figured that I would just make the best of this night.   I found myself smoking a joint to myself, because everyone else didn't want anything to do with downers until they were ready for sleep.   And then the smell came about.  Awesome.  That's crack.  Now this was like the good ol days.  I've never smoked crack, but I grew up with many people who did.  I knew that smell like nothing else.... it's hard not to tell.  The smell of backed up sewage that's been set a flame is a pretty unmistakeable smell.  But instead of being rude, and bolting, I stayed.  Well it actually took a little coaching from best friend of the year, and a bottle of whiskey.   I was out to get hammed at this point....

So we all just sat.  A collection of different people, from different walks of life, engaging in different substances... like antipasta of drugs.  There was no music.  I wasn't sure of which of these scumbags called this place home, but whoever it was, seemingly pawned every piece fo technology they ever owned for drugs.  So we sat, made stupid small talk, and laughed at each other for probably 3 hours.  Until the kicker came in...

A knock on the door interrupted our, made-meaningless, existance.  After a bit of shuffling around, and hiding a few pieces of paraphinilia, one of the guys answered the door. To my unpleasent surprise, it was the girl that me and my best friend were looking for, for at least 6 years.  Before moving out of town, she had broke into my best friends house when she was not home., and stole more than $700 worth of pot off her mother.  She was there for crack, and she was so there for crack, that she didn't notice that me and my best friend were there. 

Of course, with me and my best friend being hammered... it didn't take long for us to be out of the seats we had been sitting in for hours, and at the front door.  She smiled, and then a slight, cracked out look of fear swept over her face for a spilt second.... cause that's all it took before my best friend punched this girl square in the face.  A fight insued, and my best friend was doing pretty good.. for a while.   She pulled the girl inside, but was unable to get her to the ground.   The guys we were hanging with, kept trying to throw weapons like empty beer bottles, and ash trays, into the mix.  Neither used any of them.   But as things turns out, smoking crack gives you some sort of superman endurance abilities, and my drunken best friend tired out before the other girl had enough.  Soon, crack face mcgee had the upper hand.  At that point, I jumped in.   We both got some shots in, and my best friend was able to get away long enough to stand up, and try and grab the bitches hair, and yank her to the ground.   Suddenly we noticed that there was only one guy left, and he was recording the whole thing on his camera phone.  Everyone else had left.

Then it was just me and bitch face at it.  I was still drunk, although I had some adreniline buzz kill going on.  She was yelling and screaming, and I was just trying to get a clear shot at her jaw to shut her up.  Suddenly my best friend yells  "Bernie!  We need to bounce man!".  I pushed crack head lady out of the way, long enough to see 3 of bitches friends come in armed with baseball bats, and a box cutter.  At that point, even the camera man took off. 

I picked up the ashtray and empty off the floor, and stood there, tired, and not willing to stick around to see what was going to happen next.  I heard someone yelling outside "Jason, don't be a retard, don't call the cops".    The girls friends went on to start talking shit, and yelling names and what not.  One of them asked for one good reason why they shouldn't kill me right then and there.  That's when I bolted for the back door.  I jumped over the fence, and somehow ran for like 3-4 blocks.  I met up with my friend a few streets over, and then she whistled for a cab and when it came near, the license plate said "Fresh" and it had dice in the mirror.  If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah forget it."  Yo holmes, to Bel-air!  I pulled up to the house about seven or eight, and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo holmes, smell you later!"  I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there.  To sit on my throne, as the Prince of Bel-Air