I trudged along in back to back traffic as I cruised north on the Dallas parkway . The heat was bearable as long as I kept moving. But this was the parkway at sunset. The glow of the sun rays against the glass windows of corporate offices bounced light at me from all angles. I didn’t catch a green light until I passed the mini city in the middle of nowhere built some time ago for the World Cup. I didn’t mind. The dusk was immaculate. The drive was spiritual. As I cruised east on 380 the sun set on manicured lawns and minimansions adorning the landscape, a harbinger to the cool night ahead. I was headed to my cousin Johns house for a barbecue, a 30 minute drive with no traffic. When I arrived, I was greeted by the happy delight of his youngest son’s smile. But it was no night for childs play. I started with a beer. And some shrimp. John’s got that shrimp sauce down. With just enough on my stomach I followed the beers with Ketel One and grapefruit juice as the rest of the gang gathered. The problem was, I ate nothing but shrimp for dinner. Shit got bad fast. The room didn’t spin. It never does that right away. As I fumbled through my pockets looking for keys at nights end, the feeling came over me like a bout of vertigo, knocking me about as I strode to my car to drive home, or at least try. The world was spinning in my head. The street was moving, like someone changed the v-hold button on my old school Zenith televison. I’d been this drunk driving once before and ended up wrecking my car. I pulled away slowly and paced myself as I gripped the wheel tightly. The vodka got to me. I didn’t have a clear signal, but I did have moment of clarity when I decided to turn and go back to my cousins before I killed somebody. I pulled onto his property as the others were leaving and they pulled me from the car and took my keys in some corny attempt to show me that I wasn’t ready to drive. John noted the fact that I and the passenger seat of the car were covered in vomit. Maybe I wasn’t ready to drive yet. I went back inside and made myself another drink that somehow boosted my energy and with a second wind made it up Eldorado Parkway to the entrance of the freeway. Driving on 75, doing 75 with the windows down- the best way to drive drunk.
I pulled off on 15th in Plano and cruised slow through the belly of the beast, dodging the racist cops surely hiding in the shadows behind the 7Elevens. Feeling a bit frisky, I called an old friend from my days when I lived in town and made a pit stop to sober up a bit more. That’s how you drive drunk- you have to pace yourself. Frequent stops.
My midnight meetup was interesting. A 20 minute quickie that ended when I rammed my dick in her ass on mistake. She hopped into the bathtub to sooth the pain and I esconded to my chariot. I peeled down Plano Parkway and turned into my neighborhood, stopping first at the corner store before calling it a night. The air was crisp and clean. Perfect for relaxing on the balcony. I needed something to smoke. I bumped into a blonde at the other pump. With so much skin showing under her camisolle, I was certain that she was a waitress somewhere. She looked my way twice so I invited her to join me as I finished the night. She said she didn’t know me so she couldn’t. I convinced her she could by hanging in my parking lot in her car. I didn’t intend to bring some skank into my house any damn way. Bad shit happens that way. It turns out my new pal, Jill, is a waitress, who is just in from Florida, and has some issues making sincere friends in Dallas. Ironically she shared the life story to someone she wouldn’t see again. But for the moment we were BFFs. Blunt Friends Forever. We followed the stilt with some bong rips. She had some of that K2 shit. I don’t fuck with fake weed, but she was down so I let her pack a bowl of that cat litter into my trusty bong.
The night ended when I woke the next morning in the drivers seat of my car. I pulled a skimask from my face, an obvious sign that I was conscious long enough to actively avoid the sun. My passenger seat was covered in vomit. The sticky orange gut linings looked like sweet potatoes covered in Flaming Hot Cheetos. I shook my head in shame. I have been vomiting my liquor a lot more often lately. I slid my seat back into an upright position to reveal the body of the blonde waitress in my backseat. I politely shook her awake and threw my name at her again before I asked her to leave. Then I walked up the stairs into my apartment wondering what it would feel like to lay in my bed. Were the sheet cold? I dreaded the sun and cleaning the vomit beneath its glaring rays. I would lie down and put it off for a few hours of course.