alright, here’s my day: i wake up around noon, and right beside me is a bottle of old crow. it’s the bottle i’d been drinking when i passed out, you see. i get up and i feel like shit so i stumble outside and vomit into mom’s old petunia garden, you know, that raised bed she built back in 1981 and planted petunias in once. in the end it was a glorified shit box for cats. now it’s my puke box. you know my puke brought those petunias back? don’t ask me how, it’s goddamn magic. anyway, i puke, wash my mouth out with old crow, and go sit on the porch and smoke a cigarette or five. i do this to get my body from hangover mode to drunk mode. i finish the old crow and grab a second bottle from my fridge. i watch the cars drive by and the other lowlifes wandering around. some of them try to talk to me but the old folks know better. the second old crow i sip, see, cause the remnants of the first one just got me back to drunk level–now i need to maintain it, which isn’t as hard. so i sip old crow and watch people. then when i’ve finished the fifth i head down to the bar. i drink with my buddies there, watch sports on TV. nobody judges me, and tom keeps giving me beer until i’m on the floor or too belligerent. i usually can’t remember anything at this point, and i either have little lucid bits of stumbling around or puking, or i just wake up somewhere the next day. sometimes the cops have thrown me in the drunk tank. that’s a strange way to wake up. but there’s always one constant and that constant is booze. my trusted friend and advisor. don’t leave home without it, but don’t get mad when it betrays you either, cause it’s gonna betray you.