Whiskey, Cocaine and the Devil
The past several months have been a blur, and now I find myself laying here wondering what the fuck happened.
I've been back in the river city for a year now, and after an initial period of drunken debauchery, combined with a complete lack of self-respect for what my body can physically handle, I somehow fell in love with a woman that was completely and utterly wrong for me. Obviously, It didn't work out. Now I'm paying the price.
She was a big-titted blonde bartender with a body from hell, a razor sharp wit and a tongue to match, who made dangerous amounts of cash every single night. A gleeful demon of the night who introduced me to a seedy underbelly of thugs that inhabit the intentionally unknown areas of the city. Illegal night clubs that run 24/7 with damn near everyone inside on parole.
Night after night, we pounded fifths of whiskey straight from the bottle and snorted lines of blow until long after the sun had come up, and now the damage is starting to take it's toll. I lay here in pain, feeling twice my age. I'll be thirty before too long, but I already feel like I could die tonight.
But now she's gone, and it's been two weeks. I'm starting to recover, but still feel a dead spot in my soul. I deal with it the only way I know how. And now I go even deeper in the hole. Numb the pain, at least for a while. One last swig, another line, and the night will be erased. Soon, like everything else, she will only be another fuzzy memory... and as the memory of her fades, so will the pain. I hope.