14 déc - Haze

"Bring me the scotch, would'ya?" I toss some girl at the bar, getting to the counter. "And don't just put it in a faggy cup! I want a real glass of it!"

Goddamn town, with the same faggy folks... Sick of this shit, runnin' in circles, doin' stuff you think you like for a whole New Year, an' then start all over, again and 'gain... Tired of lying to myself, saying: "Hey paps, it'll all be good, and brand new! You'll like it better there, or there, elsewhere" fucking goddamit.

"NOTHING!... NOTHING will be better elsewhere, YA HEAR ME? Sunnovabitches..." I'm banging on the counter, trying to get louder than the music, but I'm just as pathetic as everyone else in here. So I stop. "Gimme another one, mate..." I tell the bartender. My hand feels the glass shivering between my fingers; they suddenly hurt, pretty bad. I want to take it outside, so I can light myself a cigaret, but the man tells me I can't bring it with me.

-You know me, fella... I ain't leaving already. C'mon, you know me better than that.
-Can't let you out, drinkin'; it's the law. And I ain't your fella, so shut up, finish your drink and leave.

My ass is all numb when I try to rise. How long have I been sitting here? Feels like hours... days... I sip it all in one shot, then try to get to the door without falling, lightning my cigaret while still being inside.
"HEY YOU FUCKNOT! OUT! NO SMOKING INSIDE, YOU FUCKING JERK!" I show him the polite finger then step out, in the back alley. I stare at the shades created by the lamppost and the trees, imaginating creatures of the wind coming for me, scrathing my head and belly. I laugh then cough. The fuckin' cold's killing me. Can't see from a miles away, it's nothing but pitch blank, out there. One of the flakes, big motherfucker, drops on the edge of the fag, fainting it, so I come back inside again.

"Sir!.... one... One more.. J&B. On the ROCKS! Oh, the hell with the rocks; let it dry..." I'm not the only sunken ship in town, I don't give a shit if they stare at me.
I look in my pockets for my last ten dollars bill, but something else floats around there. As I grab it, I know what it is, without even looking at it. "Forget it, man. Just take the damn bill" I think to myself. The first sip is always the worst... But since it's the third glass, I wonder why it's still so pukey. "What the fuck d'you use to clean yo shit, asshole? Tastes like your mother's butt!"


The huge headache wakes me up. I'm covered in snow, besides two smelly garbage can, and... And... The sun is already up? "Fucking douchebags... What the fuck, man." I try to rise and to keep myself warm, and again, my hand touches something in my right pocket.

I take out the poem you wrote, the one that wasn't for me, just like the other thousands; the one I stole from you, while you were looking away. I open the garbage can and put it in, leaving.
Searching for another bar to rely on.