I remember wanting to cry. I don't remember what made me so sad. Actually it could have been a dream. I don't remember the last time I cried. I must have been a young boy, but I've cried in my dreams.
I drank my first Heineken at a quarter to six. It was Sunday and I hadn't really done much that day. Just watched the movie Up. And then Rescue Dawn with Christian Bale. Watched the new Terminator the day before with him in it too. Pretty talented actor. Anyway, I was getting quite hungry despite behaving like a sloth all day and I knew we were going to sushi around six thirty. I had two Heinekens before dinner. At dinner had a twenty two ouncer of Kirin Ichiban. When we got back I got drunk. This is when we watched Rescue Dawn. Christian Bale is this guy who gets imprisoned in Laos during a fly by in the Vietnam War. I worked on probably four or five pints of White Russian (with ice to the top, mind you) until my folks went to bed. Now, I'm an individual who happens to have a stubborn tolerance to alcohol, especially with food in my belly, so upon my parents sleeping, I cut a little Key Lime. Into four pieces. Four limes means four drinks. Tequila. This is where things get drunk.
Tobacco is a disgusting habit, and I can safely it's not one of mine, though it has been. I walked down the treacherous hill my parents live on and found myself in some nondescript gas station buying a pack of Marlboro 27's. I got matches. It was windy that night, but I found enough nooks and crannies to chain smoke for a while. I don't remember everything, but I must've been out there for a couple of hours, because I was almost to Waikiki, and I'd befriended some poor looking guy who was walking his bike. Oh, I remember now vaguely, that I had ventured into a dark-ass park looking for, looking for God knows what. Maybe trouble. But I emerged somewhere with this guy and his bike - he had a bike wheel strapped to the front, didn't ask why, thought it was natural. We talked and talked about bullshit this bullshit that, and I gave him my card. His name was Tony Tran. I had to check my phone see that. Not such a positive idea to swap numbers with a stranger when you're drunk even if they're friendly. At least my address ain't on that card. Maybe he'll read my blog. Doesn't really matter, probably never see the guy again. So we depart, somewhere along the way I must have remembered how disgusting cigarettes were and thrown them and their matches into oblivion.
The walk up the hill is so much worse than down. It's stupid. Funny, but stupid, because I had taken off my shirt and had the thing tucked part way down my backside. Like a tail. So's I'm walkin up this damned hill and I'm maybe a quarter way up the damned thing when I'm like fuck this goddamned hill. There were few cars going up this mini Everest, but just enough to make me think sticking my thumb out would be da kine idea. I was only half doing it, throwing a shaka in every now and then. But I got tired. I stepped into the middle of the street and faced the next car that crawled up. Hey, I woulda jumped away if I'da been hit. Maybe. In any case, a nice van pulled up with three Hawaiians init. Some guy was getting a ride to his house which was just a bit before mine. The van was full of junk, bicycle stuff in fact. There was a pretty girl in the back with me. At least I thought she was pretty. Had my goggles on after all. She could've been obese. Dey tol' me sit down shotgun after frien' got ou' Oh and before climbing in I struggled with me shirt and failed to get it on. They laughed, get in. And they took me home real nice like. I fought to find the right key into the house, got lucky I still had my mom's from earlier that day. Musta sat in the den blacked out for a bit because my shorts were in there the following morning. This morning. What might the opposite term to "fuck my life" be? "Fuckin life, ya?"
I drank my first Heineken at a quarter to six. It was Sunday and I hadn't really done much that day. Just watched the movie Up. And then Rescue Dawn with Christian Bale. Watched the new Terminator the day before with him in it too. Pretty talented actor. Anyway, I was getting quite hungry despite behaving like a sloth all day and I knew we were going to sushi around six thirty. I had two Heinekens before dinner. At dinner had a twenty two ouncer of Kirin Ichiban. When we got back I got drunk. This is when we watched Rescue Dawn. Christian Bale is this guy who gets imprisoned in Laos during a fly by in the Vietnam War. I worked on probably four or five pints of White Russian (with ice to the top, mind you) until my folks went to bed. Now, I'm an individual who happens to have a stubborn tolerance to alcohol, especially with food in my belly, so upon my parents sleeping, I cut a little Key Lime. Into four pieces. Four limes means four drinks. Tequila. This is where things get drunk.
Tobacco is a disgusting habit, and I can safely it's not one of mine, though it has been. I walked down the treacherous hill my parents live on and found myself in some nondescript gas station buying a pack of Marlboro 27's. I got matches. It was windy that night, but I found enough nooks and crannies to chain smoke for a while. I don't remember everything, but I must've been out there for a couple of hours, because I was almost to Waikiki, and I'd befriended some poor looking guy who was walking his bike. Oh, I remember now vaguely, that I had ventured into a dark-ass park looking for, looking for God knows what. Maybe trouble. But I emerged somewhere with this guy and his bike - he had a bike wheel strapped to the front, didn't ask why, thought it was natural. We talked and talked about bullshit this bullshit that, and I gave him my card. His name was Tony Tran. I had to check my phone see that. Not such a positive idea to swap numbers with a stranger when you're drunk even if they're friendly. At least my address ain't on that card. Maybe he'll read my blog. Doesn't really matter, probably never see the guy again. So we depart, somewhere along the way I must have remembered how disgusting cigarettes were and thrown them and their matches into oblivion.
The walk up the hill is so much worse than down. It's stupid. Funny, but stupid, because I had taken off my shirt and had the thing tucked part way down my backside. Like a tail. So's I'm walkin up this damned hill and I'm maybe a quarter way up the damned thing when I'm like fuck this goddamned hill. There were few cars going up this mini Everest, but just enough to make me think sticking my thumb out would be da kine idea. I was only half doing it, throwing a shaka in every now and then. But I got tired. I stepped into the middle of the street and faced the next car that crawled up. Hey, I woulda jumped away if I'da been hit. Maybe. In any case, a nice van pulled up with three Hawaiians init. Some guy was getting a ride to his house which was just a bit before mine. The van was full of junk, bicycle stuff in fact. There was a pretty girl in the back with me. At least I thought she was pretty. Had my goggles on after all. She could've been obese. Dey tol' me sit down shotgun after frien' got ou' Oh and before climbing in I struggled with me shirt and failed to get it on. They laughed, get in. And they took me home real nice like. I fought to find the right key into the house, got lucky I still had my mom's from earlier that day. Musta sat in the den blacked out for a bit because my shorts were in there the following morning. This morning. What might the opposite term to "fuck my life" be? "Fuckin life, ya?"
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