Disappear Here

Soundtrack for my foray into the mouth of madness tonight:

I'm standing downtown.

The crown and gin and beer all kick through my veins. Buddy of mine hits me with another shot.
Immediately I sense it is one shot too many. I go to the bathroom.
I semi-projectile puke black liquid for what feels like ages in a fetid and putrid urinal. A skill I didn't know I had. I see my Chuck Taylors through blurry eyes.
I straighten up to full height with a feeling only a man can know: self-loathing, purification, cleansing, and raw masculinity.

I turn and two guys look at me like a Martian who just showed them how to teleport.
Equal parts shock and amazement at my feat.

I walk out of the bathroom. A girl grabs my arm and compliments my hair.
I tug at her belt loop and compliment her pants with a grin as I stare where that slight curvature of the stomach and leg meet as she is slim and athletic. If she had black hair I'd be super attracted to her instead of the moderate attraction I feel.
I feel hollow inside which seems appropriate.
The late night slide into iniquity and drunkenness has hit full tilt. The couples that didn't know one another an hour ago are making out.

Before I make it to the bar an asian girl asks to take a picture b/c she likes the Muppets on my shirt.
I'm way past giving a fuck at this point. She leans in close, her arm draped around my neck. She is left wanting as I don't pull the college-post-puke-make-out session we've all laughed about the morning after at the dining hall.

What excitement and shallow trepidation infused with joy I felt about being out alone on the town has faded b/c I know the wife is pissed. I know tomorrow morning will be quiet and she'll be ill and I don't have the whatever to care enough to hash it out with her.

I noticed a *********** girl who is friends with a ********** girl I fucked a long time ago. She's also friends with a girl my buddy had sex with.
Small world and all that shit.

There's always another fight. Another argument. Another thing to be mad about. Everything else in my life is the best it's ever been but it's not enough. It never will be. I accept this as the DJ spins shitty pop music mixed with drum and bass and girls think they're on Abby Lee swaying to what passes for remixes these days.

I get in my car and leave. I'm tired of putting the "live" in "living".
Sleep.