Ah fuck, it happened again.

It was Tuesday afternoon and my cell phone rang. It’s The Silver Fox. He’s going apeshit and can’t take it anymore, and doesn’t know if he can make it ’til the end of the week to come up. And I just bombed a midterm so I’m feeling it too.

“Hey, guess what dude? I don’t have school tomorrow. Come up.” I say to The Silver Fox on the other end.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!??!!! WHY?”

“Dude, tomorrow is Cesar Chavez’ birthday, there’s no class. Come up dude, I’m feeling it. This town is perched on the edge of a knife. Come up. I get out of class at 6:15.”

Long pause. I can hear the gears turning in his head as he rapidly hatches a plan to get away from home.

“I’m coming up dude. If I stay here one minute longer I’ll go hog wild. I’ll be there around 7.”

Click. Yeah, I can feel it. Tuesday night in Chico and the weather is perfect. And nobody has class tomorrow? Holy shit I’m going to explode.

I haven’t blacked out in awhile, but I know it’s going to happen. I can just tell these things. There is a certain electricity in the air. I KNOW when a night is going to be good. I could FEEL the energy on campus, downtown, and in classes. Tonight was going to be wild.

As I sit in my Ancient Greek Art class I can barely contain myself. I’m not listening to the lecture at all. I’m staring at the clock, staring at that girl’s big chest over there (oh hey, what’s up?), and back to the clock. 30 more minutes. I can’t take it. I’m sitting in the back row, in the back corner, opposite the door. I have to walk all the way down the aisle and cut across the whole front of the classroom. I get up and walk out of the class. I cut right in front of the professor, right in front of the whole class. No explanation, no “excuse me”, no “see ya later”, nothing. I just get up and walk out. With a fucking purpose.

As I’m walking out of the old, brick art building I see the vibrant sun setting on the far horizon. Young people are playing with a reggae colored frisbee on the lawn in front of the bell tower. A girl is riding a very long skateboard, getting towed by her friend on a purple mountain bike. Across the street people are having cheap coffee and sitting outside at the dirty plastic tables on the sidewalk. A couple of teenage wanna-be punks are smoking cigarettes they had to beg someone of age to buy them next to the tattoo parlor. Music blares from a green convertible as it passes by. The air feels so alive, I feel like I can reach out and take it.

I don’t take the long way home this time. Usually I take a gerrymandering, squiggly line route home that brings me by all the sorority girl houses and bars, but not today. I cut across the park, across the train tracks, and make a bee-line for my apartment.

Once inside I grab my icechest and run down the stairs to my truck. I go around the corner to the gas station and buy a 30 pack of Coors Light and big, fat bag of ice.

“Hey Tom, is your buddy coming up again tonight?”

These people know me so well it’s sad. I bet they’re really gonna miss my business when I move.

Once I’ve got all those beautiful Silver Bullets perfectly layered in ice I drive back around the corner to my house, grab the ice chest, and haul it upstairs.

Shit, my apartment is a mess. Like, it’s really messy. I have books and papers strewn about EVERYWHERE. My bed isn’t made, I’ve got laundry overflowing out of the hamper, and dishes are piled sky-high in the sink. Normally I would make an effort to clean the house before company, but not tonight. Fuck it. I’ve got beer to drink.

Do you think I drank that first beer in 3 gulps? Do you?

Like clockwork The Silver Fox ROARS into the parking lot at 7pm on the dot. His truck door slams and I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I’m sitting at my desk, working on my 3rd beer, fiddling with my computer, selecting music to start off the night–The Police, Elvis, the whole 80s music directory, and selected classic country hits.

The Silver Fox doesn’t say a word as he walks in the door, and neither do I. He goes straight for the ice chest and digs deep. *crish* *gulp* *sigh*

“WHAT’S UP DUDE!? I’M HERE! LET’S DRINK!”

Hell yeah, it’s going to be that kind of night.

A few gulps later he’s done with his first beer. He crushes the can flat with both hands, and throws the can out the front door and onto the lawn in front of my apartment. The Silver Fox knows, after many trips to Chico, that the cans will be gone by 6am. The bike people appreciate our making their jobs easier. When the can is on the lawn, they don’t have to dumpster dive to find them.

The Silver Fox pounds another beer and opens his 3rd. He hasn’t even been here 5 minutes. He’s pacing the room, going nuts, making primal grunts and other noises as he pounds beer after beer. And I keep up.

By 9 o’clock we’re both drunker than Cooter Brown. Of course we haven’t eaten, and we don’t plan to. We know the routine. If you eat, you can’t drink as much. It’s a non-issue.

The Silver Fox puts on some Elvis and cranks up the volume. Now, I just bought new speakers and let me tell you–they rock the fucking house. With all the bass and everything turned up the walls shake, and that is not an exaggeration. The Silver Fox has his shirt off and he’s playing air guitar on my balcony. I join him outside, singing Elvis lyrics as loud as I can, with The Silver Fox on backup.

Soon we attract an audience. The girls from downstairs are in the parking lot below my little balcony. Some kids from across the street come over to see what the two drunk jackasses are doing. The song ends and everyone erupts into cheers and applause.

More people start to show up. I bring the ice chest down to the parking lot. Everyone is outside, drinking, talking, hanging out, and having a good time.

Now it’s 10pm and The Silver Fox and I are starting to talk like pirates, and we soon start talking about rum. Now, at this point the last thing we need is another drink. However, this does not deter us. I grab a couple of girls and we all go upstairs for shots of rum (because that’s what pirates drink)

While we’re upstairs the party in the parking lot thins as people start getting ready to hit the bars. The girls hang out for awhile. One girl I think is hitting on The Silver Fox, but he’s so drunk and oblivious he can’t pick up on her advances. The other girl is NOT into me, so I ignore her. The girls soon leave, the party downstairs has gone away, and The Silver Fox and I are so drunk we’re stumbling.

I look at my watch. 10:30pm. Holy fucking shit. It is WAY too early for us to be this drunk.

“Let’s go dude, I want a Salty Dog!” The Silver Fox tells me as best he can through his slurring and wildly gyrating hand gestures. When The Silver Fox gets all liquored up he tends to flail his arms around and make rapid head movements to make his points while talking.

The Silver Fox is walking out the door and down the stairs. He’s still not wearing a shirt.

“You gotta put a shirt on jackass!”

“Ah fuck it, just throw me one!”

I close the door and start walking. I get to the sidewalk and I realize I’m not wearing any shoes. What the fuck? I don’t remember taking my shoes off. I’m in my socks, but no shoes.

“God dammit I forgot my shoes dude! We gotta go back.”

“You jackass! You fucking jackass!” (arms flailing)

From this point on the details start to get a little hazy.

I want to wear my favorite shoes, my black low-top Converse Chuck Taylor styles. These are the ones I had on earlier, but in my drunken stupor I took them off. And now I can’t find them. I’m starting to get pissed. This would be the 3rd pair I’ve lost while drunk. And THIS time in my own damn house. I’m ripping shit apart looking for my shoes. There are plenty of other functional shoes to wear, and readily available, but I’m in the zone and I want my black Cons. Plus, I’m pissed because I keep losing my fucking shoes while I’m drunk.

I’m storming all over my apartment, tearing it apart, looking for my shoes, in a hurry. I SLAM my naked toes into my bedframe. I crumble in pain. I’m rolling around on the ground and clutching my toes, moaning. And The Silver Fox is laughing like a loon.

“YOU JACKASS! YOU FUCKING JACKASS!”

Soon the pain goes away (most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol in my system) and I start to laugh too.

I need a drink and I need one soon. I give up on trying to find my black Cons. I grab a pair of shoes and we finally head out the door.

Shit, my toes are starting to hurt. We walk all the way downtown and go to the Bear. I see some girls I know and we start talking to them. These girls are totally rad. Both are beach gals from sunny San Diego. They are so laid back and fun and all they want to do is party. They sit in front of me in one of my classes. I usually keep them entertained with drunk stories. I can only imagine what they think of a 32 year old guy still in college, still partying hard. Tonight I’m so liquored up and slurring my words so badly that is enough to make them laugh.

I forget exactly what happens at the Bear, but I do know that I got kicked out. One minute I had to take a piss, the next minute I’m out on the sidewalk. The Silver Fox gets kicked out too. I think we were just too drunk, swaying, falling down, and knocking people over. I know the bouncers, and they are cool with me, so they let us go. It’s not even midnight yet.

We walk to Joe’s and try to get in. The bouncers at the front door look at us and say, “Sorry guys, no way.” We’re just too drunk. So The Silver Fox and I walk around to the side gate. Yep, my buddy is working. I slip him a 20 and we’re in.

The Salty Dogs flow like wine and then… the inevitable blackout.

I’m wet and it is cold. I can hear running water. My head is pounding and everything is spinning. I lift my head up and a wave of nausea washes over me. I think this is grass. Yes, I’m on a lawn. My eyes focus and I realize I am home. The sprinklers are on and I’m soaking wet. Actually it feels kind of good.

Shit I gotta get inside before I get arrested. I pick myself up and stumble, fall down, get up, and crawl up the stairs to my apartment. The front door is open. The Silver Fox is passed out on the floor. I trip and fall over him. Fuck it, I just lay there on the floor next to him. I pass out again.

Next thing I know it is morning. I can hear people going about their day. The sun is shining and there is a nice breeze flowing in through the front door, which we left open AGAIN for the umpteenth time.

Oh my head, oh my back, oh my stomach…

This is quite possibly the worst I have ever felt after a night of boozing. The Silver Fox gets up and he’s no better. It’s about 10am. We figure we slept for about 10 hours on the floor.

“What the fuck happened last night dude? What did we do?”

The apartment is a disaster. Beer cans and shot glasses are littered all over the floor and countertops and bathroom. Clothes everywhere, shoes everywhere. I really fucked my place up looking for those black Cons.

Oh shit, my shoes. Whew, I’ve still got the ones I was wearing when I went out. But where are my black Cons?

The Silver Fox and I talk and piece together the night before as best we can. We both blacked out at Joe’s, so once again there is a huge gap of missing time from Joe’s ’til we got home.

The Silver Fox has to get going. He talks me into going to breakfast. I do not feel like eating. We go to a new cafe around the corner from my house. I order a waffle and stare at it. The Silver Fox forces down some eggs and toast. We leave.

Once back at my place the hangover is in full effect. The Silver Fox packs up and leaves around noon. I spend the rest of the day in misery, cleaning up my apartment and nursing the worst hangover of all time.

And now it’s almost midnight. I still feel like crap. I managed to clean up my apartment and eat some fruit earlier. This one is going to take a few days to go away.

I searched all afternoon for my shoes. I found one, but the other is still MIA. I guess one out of two ain’t so bad…

Valentine’s Day is a great day, if you’re a single guy.

First of all, there is no pressure to buy your old lady crap. You don’t have to spend a week planning something you really don’t feel like doing to begin with. You don’t have to spend $100 on roses, take her to dinner, go see some sappy chick flick–none of that shit. It’s a wonderful, free, OMG-I-can-breathe feeling.

Secondly, Valentine’s Day is great for single guys because not all girls have boyfriends. THIS is the time of year that single gals get desperate. They have this panicky kind of feeling if they don’t have fabulous plans for Valentine’s Day. THIS is THE time of year where if a girl doesn’t have a guy they feel like they aren’t complete, they feel inadequate. Like, “What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t anybody want me?” kind of feelings. When you see them you can tell, right away. You can smell their pathetic desperation. This is why Valentine’s Day is the best day of the year for single guys–you’re guaranteed to hook up.

Such was the case Saturday night. Janden called me. “Meet me at Team Players”. 8pm, I’m there.

Janden is already two pitchers of Sierra ahead of me, and he’s pretty drunk. I take an empty seat next to him at the bar and pour myself a pint.

Right away we pinpoint two girls sitting around the corner from us. You can just taste their desperation. Two single girls without dates on Valentine’s Day. They look pretty pathetic. This will be an easy score.

These two girls invited us back to one of their houses for drinks. It was pretty early, only about 11pm. I was thinking it was too early to be settling on these two chicks when we had 3 more hours of pick-up time ahead of us. But Janden wanted to go, and these two girls were persistent, so we left.

By this time I’m sufficiently drunk. I’ve been slamming Celebration and doing shots of rum. I’m right there on the borderline–one more shot and I’ll lose it. I can’t remember the girls’ real names so I give them nicknames. Timbuktu and JLo. I’m in the car and I’m starting to spin. All three of them are smoking. I’m trying very hard to resist. We arrived at Timbuktu’s house.

I got out of the car and tried to get my bearings. The air was very cold, and damp, and felt good on my face. It had been raining on and off all day. I don’t recognize the neighborhood at all. I wasn’t paying attention on the drive over–I was trying to keep it together, I was getting the spins. So I have no idea where I am.

We’re walking along a fence and turn the corner into a driveway. It’s a very small one story house with a little front yard. Janden is ahead of me as we walk through the gate. Then Janden trips on something and falls flat on his face, and I on top of him. Poor Janden. He helps me up and I look around the yard, and… it’s full of toys. Like, little kid toys. Tonka toys and whiffle ball bats and a plastic car big enough to fit a small kid inside.

Kids. Turns out they both have kids. It figures. That’s what you have to deal with at my age. If a girl is single at 30 that means one of two things: One, she’s divorced and has kids. Two, she’s fucked up in the head and nobody wanted her. This is my dating pool.

So we go inside and I head straight for the fridge. No beer. I’m starting to get a little pissed at this point. We left a great bar full of chicks on the BEST FUCKING NIGHT OF THE YEAR TO HOOK UP with two single moms. I don’t know exactly where I am but I do know I’m far enough away from downtown. I’m stuck here. Shit.

Then I start thinking crazy stuff. Like, “OMG these girls are psychos. They’re going to chop us up into little pieces Janden!” My eyes survey the kitchen. OK. The kitchen knives are betweeen me and them. Good. I reach down with my right hand and make sure my knife is still in my front pocket. Good, good. If they try any monkey business I can stick ’em.

I headed into the kitchen and started cooking up margaritas. Once a bartender, always a bartender. I had a drink and relaxed, and settled into my routine. I was in prime form, telling all my best jokes and using all my best material. I had these girls eating out of the palm of my hand.

Now I can’t remember the nicknames I gave the girls before, so they get new ones. The cute girl is wearing a belt buckle with a big ol’ star on it, so she gets dubbed The Pornstar. The other girl gets a boring name, Two Kids.

Next thing I know Janden is making out with the girl I was working on, The Pornstar. This doesn’t surprise me. I know what I have to do. To be a good wingman you need to take one for the team. You have to talk to the boring girl, so your buddy can get laid. You see, if you ignore the “other” one eventually she’ll get bitchy. She’ll get bored, she’ll be pissed nobody is entertaining her, and soon she’ll insist she has to go RIGHT NOW. So it was that night. Janden and Porn Star went to her bedroom, and I’m stuck with Two Kids.

Now it’s like 3am and I’m really, really tired. I’m drunk, I’m hungry, and I just want to sleep. I go sit down on the couch. Two Kids sits next to me and starts stroking my hair. She jumps me. I’m zoning in and out of consciousness, sleeping and not sleeping, kissing and not kissing.

At around 5am I look at my watch. Man, it is time to go. The wingman’s duties have been fulfilled. As quietly as I can I get up, get dressed and make for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Shit. “I uh, I can’t sleep here, it hurts my back. I really need to get a good night’s sleep. I uh, need to write a paper tomorrow, due Monday. So I gotta go.” I unlock the door.

“We can go back to my house, I have a really big bed.”

Yeah, and two kids I say to myself. “I really need to get some rest. I gotta go.” I open the door.

“Can I have your number?”

Dammit, why won’t this girl let me go? I start to panic. I’m thinking crazy thoughts about getting cut into pieces again. “I have your number, it’s in my cell phone. I’ll call you later.”

And with that I scurry out the door. I think I heard her say something as I shut the door, but I don’t care. I’m still a little drunk. I just want to eat and go sleep all day. I pick a direction and start walking.

Man, I’m really out in BFE. Where am I? It’s not a very nice part of town. All the houses have junked cars in the front yard. The street lights are out, there are no sidewalks, and everything is muddy. It starts to rain. Perfect.

Like 20 minutes later I come to an intersection I recognize. Jesus, I’m like 10 miles from my house. We’re in like, Durham or something. I’m starting to feel a little vomity, so I sit down on the curb (is this starting to sound familiar?). My feet are in the water headed down the curb to the gutter (at least I’ve got my shoes). The water is nice and cool and feels good on my tired feet. My shoes and socks are soaking wet, and I just don’t give a shit. I call a cab and try to keep it together. I made it home without getting sick. Crash.

Today I get a phone call.

Not on my cell phone, on my land line. I normally keep the ringer off on the land line because nobody knows that number and I never give it out. Hell, I don’t even know it. If you want to get ahold of me you call my cell phone.

Well, yesterday I ordered pizza and gave the place my land line number. I turned on the ringer in case they needed to call me back, and forgot to turn it back off. So today the phone rings. I’m in the middle of doing something online, so I’m not really thinking about it. I reach over and answer the phone.

“Hey Tom, it’s Nikki.”

Nikki? Who the fuck is Nikki?

“Who?”

“You know, Timbuktu? Porn Star?”

“Oh yeah, hey what’s up?” How the fuck did you get my land line number? I don’t even know it. Nobody knows it. I’m starting to get really creeped out. Ever see Fatal Attraction?

“Did Janden like me?” she asked me, voice quivering.

Oh man, how to handle this? “I don’t know, I’ve been uh, really busy and uh, haven’t talked to Janden since that night.”

“Did you like Jen?”

Jen. Jen? Oh, Two Kids. “Jen, yeah… uh, you know, Jen has two kids. I’m not into that, you know? That’s not what I’m looking for. You understand? I mean, maybe it would be different if they didn’t live with her full time…” OK, that went well.

“But she’s really cool and she really liked you.”

“Yeah, uh… yeah. Sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m not interested.” Please, leave me alone. Please?

“OK well here’s my number, give it to Janden will ya?” I can hear her kid screaming in the background.

“Sure. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Click. Whew. Creeped out. Psycho!

That just happened about 30 minutes ago. I’m sitting here, worrying now. Shit, if they can get my phone number does that mean they know where I live? Crap. Crap a crap. (cue the theme music from Psycho)

I need to call Janden now.

Let us begin.

The Silver Fox calls me Thursday afternoon and informs me that he’ll be here in Chico in two hours. Pretty short notice, but I don’t care. The Silver Fox and I always have a wild time when he comes to visit. I hang up the phone and go buy beer.

The Silver Fox roars into the parking lot around six o’clock. He walks up the stairs and in the door, not saying a word, and hands me a beer while cracking open one of his own. It’s on.

“I need to get drunk. We’re getting drunk. Let’s get drunk, Tom!” he said to me, finishing his beer and crushing the can with his hands.

“I’m hungry. Should we eat?”

“Nah, then we won’t be able to drink as much.” I tell him.

“We’ll get drunk faster too.”

“Yeeeeeaaaahhhhhh!!!”

This is a typical conversation in my group of friends.

We pound beers in my apartment until 9 o’clock, then we decide that we’d better get going. The Silver Fox is still wearing his work clothes.

“Should I change dude?” he asks me.

“Nah fuck it. Let’s just go.”

The Silver Fox is wearing some beat up blue jeans, a dingy white thermal long sleeve shirt and some other blue shirt over the top of that, with his ratty black leather work boots. He decides he wants to polish them before we go, and I’m getting impatient. He tries to open the can of polish but it’s stuck. He’s cursing and struggling with it and finally it gets loose, and big black chunks of old shoe polish go all his shirt, my counter, and my floor. And we’re laughing like a couple of hyenas.

“You jackass!”

“You fucking jackass!”

One would think that it would be easier to take off your shoes first before polishing them, but not my buddy The Silver Fox. He’s standing up, bent over, swaying, and trying to polish the shoes on his feet. He keeps losing his balance and bumping into things. I’m sitting the corner, taking it all in. The Silver Fox couldn’t find the brush for the polish so he takes chunks of it with his fingers and tries to smear it all over his boots. Finally he gives up. His boots have big splotches of polish all over them. They look terrible. He missed spots everywhere.

“Ah fuck it, too much work! Let’s go! Come on!” he makes an onward! swoop with his arm as he says this, and we leave.

First we go to the Graduate. Then we go to the Bear. We watch two girls kiss for a bit. I decide I’m not drunk enough. It’s time for shots.

“Let’s do a shot! I’m not drunk enough yet, we need to get more drunk. This Coors Light isn’t doing it for me. I can’t drink this stuff fast enough to get drunk, can you? What do you want?” I ask him, slurring my words badly.

“Tequila.”

“Negative. Jager?”

“Captain Morgan! That’s what pirates drink!”

This is sound reasoning as far as I’m concerened. What’s good enough for pirates is good enough for me. So we get a round a shots, and then another, and a third. We finish off our pitcher of beer and stumble to Joe’s Bar.

Joe’s Bar is my bar. I’m there at least 3 times a week. I know all the bartenders, all the waitresses, and all the bouncers. And they know me. I tip $2 every round, even if the drink is only a buck. Many times I’ve slipped the bouncers a $20 to get me and my friends in the back door. When they see me coming the shake my hand and call me by my name, and I feel like the King of Town. When I walk up to the crowded bar, I get service before anyone else. Waitresses fight each other to serve me. Best of all it’s only a few blocks from my apartment, so I can get blackout drunk and stumble home.

The Silver Fox and I get there right before midnight, and there wasn’t a line yet, so we walked right in. The Silver Fox asks me why we haven’t been carded yet tonight, and makes a crack about us being 31 years old. I hate thinking about my age so I brush it off and go straight to the bar.

Bloody marys with extra beans and veggies. The Silver Fox procedes to knock his drink over. I apologize to the two guys next to us. The Silver Fox says he heard them talking shit, and now he wants to fight. Shit, I want to fight too. I don’t know why, but I’m angry and I want to fight too. Then I see a girl I that looks familiar.

“Dude! You see that girl with the black hair sitting at the bar? That’s Kevin Berkowitz’ old girlfriend!”

“No way! Let’s go say hi!”

So The Silver Fox and I start walking over to talk to this girl. As I’m taking a sip of my drink I notice that his fingernails are completely black. And his fingers. And his palms. The Silver Fox never washed his hands after fighting with the shoe polish. I laugh and bloody mary mix shoots out my nose. This prompts another round of “you jackass.”

I clean myself off and compose myself. The Silver Fox and I talk to this girl for like five minutes. I’m asking her about Kevin, and what she’s doing up in Chico, and how she likes graduate school and all that stuff. It’s so loud I can’t hear a word she’s saying. I’m really drunk by this time too. Finally she excuses herself.

The Silver Fox turns to me and says, “That girl was acting like she didn’t know you.”

Then something clicks in my head, and I realize that she wasn’t Kevin’s ex girlfriend. She looked familiar to me, because she was in one of my classes last year. I admit this to The Silver Fox, and I am a jackass for the 100th time of the night.

Now we switch to salty dogs. At this point we’re so stupid drunk that we really have no business whatsoever drinking any more. A salty dog is grapefruit juice with vodka, and salt around the rim. It’s my favorite cocktail. The bartender is a cute chick with red hair and a big behind that I flirt with every chance I get. She pours my drinks so FAT it’s ridiculous. Tall glasses of ice with vodka, and a splash of grapefruit. I don’t know how many we had. I lost count after 3.

Then, blackout.

I wake up at 11am. The Silver Fox is lying in bed next to me, and has stolen both my pillows. I’ve still got all my clothes on, including my shoes. Thank god I didn’t lose my shoes. Why isn’t The Silver Fox in his sleeping bag on the pads on the floor where he always sleeps? What the fuck happened last night?

The door is wide open, again. SIGH. I don’t know what it is about us, why we can’t close the god damn door? There are leaves all over the floor in my apartment, EVERYWHERE. There are about 20 pairs of wet socks on the floor. I just did laundry, so I don’t know where the hell all these dirty socks came from. Everything is wet. My clothes are soaking wet. My bed is wet and full of leaves. The Silver Fox took off all his wet clothes, he’s in his boxers. He managed to get his 3 pairs of jeans he brought with him wet. How this happened I don’t know, he only wore the one pair he was wearing when he walked in the door. Beer cans are everwhere. Chairs are knocked over, shit is everywhere, it’s a disaster.

“Dude. DUDE. What the fuck happened last night?”

I don’t know. We both blacked out. We can’t piece it together.

Then I hear a moan in the bathroom. It’s not The Silver Fox, he’s right here next to me. A girl comes walking out and simply says to us, “I have to go home.” She walks out the door and leaves, and we don’t say a word.

I start to survey the scene.

I walk in the bathroom and there is pizza in my shower.

There is puke all over the floor.

I find a full can of beer in my oven.

I open the silverware drawer and it’s full of water.

I find a pair of jeans that belongs to neither The Silver Fox or myself.

The Silver Fox’s sleeping bag is soaking wet. The floor is wet. Everything is wet. Jesus, why is everything wet?

Crime in Italy, what the fuck happened last night?

I can’t take this. I don’t remember anything after the salty dogs, and neither does The Silver Fox. My head is pounding. I feel like shit. I sit down at my desk with my head in my hands.

I do the only thing a man can do in this situation. I crack open a beer.

Now it’s Friday night and my apartment is more or less cleaned up. The Silver Fox went home hours ago. I’m still finding pieces of pizza, beer cans, and leaves here and there.

But at least I’ve got my shoes.