Postcard (Already)

Oh Lefty.

I got rilly drunk on the way here.

I don’t know how it happened, exactly. I mean, yeah, okay, I drank a lot. So sue me!

I sent Firecracker an email at 12:21 saying, “We’re at the airport! And we’re gonna get drunk!” Then I sent her another one at 12:39 that said, “I’m drunk!” Then there was the plane, with the little bottles, and the long drive from Atlanta, with the big Tecates.

Plus I hardly ate all day. A slice, a banana, and a bag of Cracker Jacks. But still: was there cocaine in that booze?

Cuz: I took about a hundred pictures of myself on the plane. I whispered loudly about our fellow passengers. I put on “Freak Scene” and got much too excited. I couldn’t sit still!

Then we got off the plane and nothing Mr. Pistol and his dad were talking about was making any sense. We drove and drove and drove. And drove. Long drive with nothing to think about, etc. I IMed. Thank goodness the people I was IMing with are only virtual. Otherwise I would be very embarrassed.

Then we went to a casino. I don’t really understand. Suddenly we were just there. It was smoky and everybody was old. Mr. Pistol gave me a beer and five dollars. “I don’t want this!” I said. But–sigh–I drank the beer, and I put the money in the machine, and I pushed the buttons until they wouldn’t push anymore. (That’s a metaphor for being
alive.)

I really didn’t want to be there. I really wanted to be in my grave instead.

We had to go to a restaurant then, and the only things you could order were shrimp (allergic), alfredo (disgusting), or crab. I had crab and crab and crab. You had to eat 40 pounds of crab at that restaurant!

Now I want to go to sleep but first I’m going to have to throw all these fucking pillows on the floor.

It is so terrible how many crabs are in my stomach right now.

With a headache and a heavy heart and a brimming basket of regrets,
Pistol

by Pistol Whip | 23 March 2007 | assholes, postcards!!! | Comments