Hazy Tales #9
This story may contain adult content.
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Written by Neil Sweetman
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Tuesday, 20 May 2008 |
Dammit, missed the bowl, got a little bit on my shoes, not good. I hate wearing shoes anyway; it’s only ever for funerals or court appearances. Its not until you’ve worn shoes for twelve hours straight before you actually appreciate the comfort of Nike Air Max, but then you have to feel sorry for those sweat-shop toddlers, at least they’re learning a trade, they probably make money on the side by stitching shoes for their relatives and friends anyway. My breaths probably stinking now, I should probably get off the ground and clean my shoe. ******* head-rush, I got up too fast, I need to round up whatever bearings I have left and sort myself out. I cant be this drunk. Ah ****! I got vomit in my shoe, I can feel my socked foot squishing a chunk, better chuck the sock and rinse the shoe. Stay balanced, if I fall and crack my head on the toilet there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be discovered for a few days, my foot would be rank. I’ve always hated these bogs, ever since I got knocked clean out by some rancher for smoking a joint in the cubicle, its only a joint for **** sake, pretty dirty toilets too. I think I might be sick again, it’s the sambucas, I ******* hate sambuca but ill always drink it. Better not stain my shirt, my shoes drenched now, puke-free but wet, **** it. Need to split soon, I’ll smoke a few cigarettes on the way, to get the smell off my breath. How do I look? Conscious. I definitely need to leave now, mum never accepts tardiness, even if she is a corpse.
Copyright 2008 Neil Sweetman
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