A Not So Freak Accident

                 Good morning world.  Another day, another fucking hangover.  It seems to never get any easier.  I can't remember a damn thing about last night.  Well some of it is a little fuzzy but the rest is straight black.  I do remember leaving Holden's and heading home.  I don't actually remember getting here though.  Not a new thing to me.  Seems to happen at least two times a week.  Oh well, what's life without a little bit of mystery?  Anyway I must get up and try and not repeat my actions.  Everything in moderation. 

 

                 I get up from the couch, apparently to trashed to even get undressed and into my bed last night.  At least I don't see any vomit anywhere, and I don't have piss all over me.  I have been known to do both on less plastered occasions.  And no dope fucked coyote in my house anywhere.  That's a good thing.  My penis and pride are saved once again.

                Stumbling through the small hall to my bedroom, I undress and look for any battle wounds from the previous night's encounters.  None that I see, but my neck and back are quite stiff as if I jarred them at some point.  All I remember really is sitting at Holden's for a while, all day practically, getting pretty sloshed on Forty Creek whiskey, a few small doses of Xanax and as always an endless amount of pot.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Just good and twisted.  That's all I ever aspire for.

                I strip down and throw my clothes into the corner designated for such and stumble into the pocket size bathroom.  I rest my weary body on the side of the tub and decide a bath would do more justice to my aching neck and back than any shower could.  It is a tight squeeze for my six foot three frame but the idea just seems more pleasant.  Fuck all that standing up bullshit.  I need to relax.

                If I remember right I think I still have a few of those little blue Xanax pills in my jeans' pocket.  I start running some torrid water for myself and stagger again to the corner of my room where I had discarded my pants just moments ago.  Reaching into the right front pocket I retrieve the cigarette cellophane containing three of those sneaky little pills.  One should definitely do the trick for the time being.  Save the rest for later.  We know that we will need them.  I sit on the bed and swallow the tablet without any liquid to follow it.  Bad idea.  My mouth is super dry.  I waddle to the bathroom sink and chase it down with a large gulp of water.  My bath water is not quite done so I decide that a beer would also be a good solution to the pollution.  A little hair of the dog as they say.  A bit of smoke ought to do the trick as well.  Returning from the kitchen I grab my pipe and sack and retreat to the bathroom to settle into my cozy tub.  I stretch out in my cramped bathtub and crack the top of the constantly sweating bottle of beer and take a considerable swig.  I place the bottle on the floor near me and load a bowl of the stickiest green I have come across in a long time.  This town is hardly ever dry, but the quality of bud borders on tolerable for the most part.  Very seldom do I run across something like this, not without paying out the ass for it anyway.  We have those swindlers brave enough to charge a drug crazed freak twenty plus a gram.  Jesus, I mean we can't all live the high life.  We aren't all petty hustlers.  When I do run across grass of this caliber I have a tendency to hang on to as much as possible.  With a few good tokes soaking in my lungs and clouding my brain, I relax going over the details of what could have happened last night.  Trying to piece the proverbial puzzle together, I slip into a comatose like state and slide further into my sanctuary.

                The ringing of my phone brings me out of my own mind and back to reality.  I hate a fucking phone.  If it wasn't for my need to procure drugs at a hasty rate I think I would do without it.  The devil had to have something to do with these fiendish things.  I mean who wants to be where someone can get a hold of them or know where they are at any given moment.  Certainly not me but here I am getting out of my comfort zone to see what causes this demon to shout its unusual mating call to me.  Who the fuck could it be?  Do they not know what the hell I could be doing?  I am a busy man and could be rendered incapacitated at the throes of a young virgin with an old whore's mind.  I mean think of the kinky things she could be doing to me as this maniac tries to draw me away with something I am sure they will say is of the utmost importance.  Awe, who the fuck am I kidding?  No strange orgies here.  Not in at least two months.  That's kind of depressing now that I think about it.  No sexcapades for me.  Been to wrapped up in my own self-loathing and destructive tendencies to worry about females at this time, and to tell you the truth I feel much better not having one breathing down my neck like a rabid jabberwocky.  Beastly things they are. 

 

              I slowly raise from the tub and sloppily wrap a towel around myself, and walk towards the sound of the unforgiving phantasm violently screaming and vibrating across the living room table.  Once again my mind queries on who it could be.  Reaching the wretched thing I silence it's hounding by answering the thing and not even glancing at who it could be.  This often results in dangerous conversations with people I have no desire in speaking with (e.g. creditors, parents, etc.).

                "Hey fool!  What's up?"  Oh my fucking Christ!  It was him!  The Devil himself.  The one responsible for my debauchery of the night before and many nights previously.  What could I tell him?  It was too late to ignore him.  This was the exact instance I was referring to earlier.  It was the quick decision to just answer and quiet the beast instead of checking the caller-id to see who was disturbing me.

                "Hello?  Dax, you there?"  Holden bellows into his mouthpiece.  It comes out as a hollow suffocated sound on my end.

                "Yeah.  I'm here.  What's up?"  I cautiously ask.  With this man at the helm anything is liable to happen.

                "How did you make out last night?  I assume you got home safe."

                "Yeah, I managed.  Always do."

                "What you gonna get into today?"

                "Man, haven't thought much about it.  Was just sitting in the bathtub relaxing.  That's as far as I have gotten.   What about you?"

                "Thinking about heading out to get a drink somewhere.  Gotta get away from the wifey and little girl for a minute.  You up for something?"  I heard the buzz in his voice.  How many had he already had this morning?  That's it.  A man can't get a break.  Another run with this fool was doomed from the word go.  I hadn't been sober more than a few hours and had barely gotten back into my right mind.  But what kind of degenerate would I be to turn down such a gracious invitation.

                "Man let me count my money, get dressed and call you back.  Figure out where you wanna go and I'll hit you back in a few."

                "Alright man.  Call me right back.  I'm getting outta here one way or another."

                "Alright dude.  Will do.  Later."

                "Later." he moans, and the click came from his end before the word was finished falling on my ear.

                I set the phone back on the table and plop down on the couch in my towel and massage my temples.  The Xanax seem to be taking effect now.  Once I could get my mind right I will be able to contemplate this rotten endeavor I was bound to play a part in.  I relax on the sofa for a few more minutes gathering my thoughts.  What could the day hold?  What kind of vicious orgy could we partake in?  Looking at the wall clock I realize that it is just 12:30 p.m.  Lot of daylight left.  Lot of things could be fucked up or fucked by dusk.  Let’s get ready for this outing of pure evil.  Could be nothing less.  A beer would have to be consumed before anything else.  I ascend from the couch and head towards the bathroom to gather the materials left behind in my quick dash to answer the phone.  I found my beer was warm and that just wouldn't do.  I need a fresh, cold one in order to put my mind at ease.  I drain the bath water and step into the bedroom and place the pipe and baggie on the nightstand.  I finish drying off and toss the towel through the bathroom door and onto the tile floor below.  Naked, I venture to the fridge to obtain the drink I was searching for.  In one continuous motion I remove the top and swallow almost half of the icy brew.  With a long belch I float into the bedroom once again and, finally feeling right, I sit on the bed and swill the remainder of the liquid gold.  I reach for my pipe and slowly alight the bowl and intake a few deep swarms of warm smoke into my lungs.  I hold, deep and long the inhale, and exhale slowly awaiting the light headedness that accompanies a period of oxygen deprived breathing.  I lie back on the bed and try and remember what I had done with my wallet.   Probably still in my jeans I had discarded earlier.  Not wanting to get up I force myself to roll over and stretch for the leg that was in reach from the corner of the bed.  I drag the pants within reach and yank them in the bed with me.  I feel the heavy weight of the wallet as the jeans fold onto the bed.  A sense of relief washes over me knowing that my wallet was still there.  Now to see how much actual cash was still in it.  Hoping that all had not abandoned me for someone who would care for and use more wisely than they know me to.  I shake the pants over my stomach and wince when the button clasped wallet lands on my prematurely developed gut.  I toss the jeans back into the corner where they belong and unsnap the two metal buttons that latch the thing close.  To my surprise I count fifty-seven dollars in cash.  That should definitely satisfy any drunken urges that should overcome me today.  A few drinks are really all I need anyway.  Then I can grab a case of beer and come home and ingest the remaining two tablets I have, smoke a joint and watch T.V.  Make it an early night.  No sense in pushing my luck two nights in a row.  I still wasn't sure what exactly had happened last night.  I hadn't even been outside to look at my car.  Fuck, for all I know it could be sitting in the parking lot totally destroyed or even worse, not there at all.  I have been known to launch a couple of those dirty bastards into a few ditches or trees and leave them fuckers right there.  Who knows?  I guess I will find out very shortly.

                While dressing I call Holden back to confirm our rendezvous.  We decide that Bennigan's would be the right place to begin our debauchery.  Being only a few blocks from me, I assure him that I would be there waiting his arrival.  I gather my usual things and load another bowl in my glass pipe and pull strongly.  The taste and smell engulfs my senses and sends me to that euphoric place I beckon for.  I drift to the fridge and grab another beer for the short ride.  Making sure I have everything I need and leaving the incriminating things I don't behind, I ramble out the door and down the steps of the apartment complex I was leaving behind for the moment.

                I can see the front of the eighty-six Cutlass while descending the first few steps.  Sure enough I jacked something up last night.  Just what I am not quite sure of just yet.  I am pretty relaxed right now and not really giving a shit.  It's probably nothing.  Nothing that can't be fixed anyhow.  I approach the car and notice a small tuft of blondish hair caught in a small crack in the grill.  There is a slight but noticeable amount of blood or what I assume to be blood surrounding the hair.  The plastic grill is busted up a tiny bit and there is a dwarfish warp to the bumper.  I bend down to examine it closer and assure myself that the thick liquid is indeed coagulated blood.  At the same time I notice a fine puddle of transmission fluid gathered under the front bumper.  I must have hit a goddamn dog.  Lousy fucking beast.  I have never cared for dogs.  They just seem so goofy and lost.  I am more of a cat person.  Now there is an animal with a sense of self.  The car is not damaged to terribly much but the leaking gearbox fluid worries me a bit.  I don't want to risk burning it up even though I am only going a few blocks and it doesn't seem to have lost any more than a half pint or less.  Oh well.  Once again it's nothing that can't be fixed.  It is only a few short blocks to Bennigan's and it's a wonderfully beautiful day outside so a walk would be quite nice, especially with this cold Bud in my hand.  I contemplate on the hair and blood for a few, trying to conjure up any kind of memory of hitting anything last night.  I reach and pull the hair out and give it a good once over.  Kind of smooth to belong to a mangy mutt, but it's awful low to have been anything else.  No other damage to the car was apparent.  It had to be a dog.  Probably one of those strays that roam around Holden's trailer park.  Isn't that a common thing in most mobile home communities?  Goddamn mutts running around getting into people's trash and scaring kids half to death.  For all I know I just killed one of those lousy mongrels and saved some family the torment of several reconstructive surgeries on one of their poor offspring's mangled face.  One less rabid beast to

worry about.  With that thought slipping out of my mind, I start to make the brief trek to Bennigan's.

                I twist off the top of the beer in my left hand and take a quick glance around to make sure no pigs were lurking around eye balling me.  They always seem to catch me off guard, so nowadays I try to always keep my guard up the best I can.  I have been known to slip on occasions, but haven't landed in any hot water in a while.  Keeping my fingers crossed on that one.  I notice out of the corner of my eye what appears to be police tape or something of the sort way down the road.  I can't completely make it out and the idea of police tape summons the thought of them being nearby.  I down the rest of the brew in a quick hurry and light a cigarette as I approach the parking lot of the restaurant slash bar.  With a few hurried deep drags I toss the cigarette and walk through the doors of the rather quiet establishment.  Not much happening here at one on a Friday afternoon and why should there be.  I let my guard down.  No reason to be on alert for anything.  I am in a relatively safe haven.  As long as I can keep the drink to a minimum there should be no reason for it.  Keep fairly quiet.  Mind my own business and don't pop off to any rednecks.

                Holden and I had patronized this place numerous times in the past.  I recall one calm evening about the same time, not sure what day it was; we had come in to do the same thing as scheduled today.  We settled in a booth in the bar area, which happen to also serve as the smoking section, and made idle conversation.  I had ordered a Long Island Ice Tea with a Bud Light and he had ordered a Crown and Coke.  One reason I enjoyed it here was their fabulous Long Island Ice Teas.  No one in town could make them like the squat little blonde behind the bar.  She always seemed to work every time I came in so I had to partake in her specialty, as she claimed.  I could hardly argue with her.  Anyway, while we were sitting there enjoying our drinks and clouding up the area with our choice of smokes, a young couple, probably the same age as us, sat in the booth directly behind us.  They had in tow, a child carrier containing an infant of no more than a few months.  This is the kind of ignorant behavior that I can't fucking stand.  I just don't comprehend how someone could give a fuck less about something as precious and dear as an innocent child.  I mean in my mind that is the epitome of lousy parenting.  Holden seen the anger rise in my eyes and turned to see what it was that was drawing so much of my attention.  He noticed the same thing and turned to me with that look that says, "Calm down.  We don't need any trouble.  No sense in setting it off in such a serene environment."

                I downed the rest of both of my drinks knowing I wouldn't have much time to do so shortly, if the man across from me has any balls at all.  I turn the conversation sharply towards how ignorant and immoral it is to treat a child in such a manner, consciously raising my voice to be overheard.  I wanted nothing more than to get this fuck's attention and get him riled up.  I don't usually go causing ruckus, especially if I am sober, but after a few drinks I have a bad habit of letting people know about themselves and exactly what I think of them.  Holden tried to calm me down by motioning with his hand but seen that it was going to be a futile effort.  He followed suit by downing his Crown and Coke and prepared himself for what was surely about to erupt.

                Holden was the real fighter.  I had seen him put a many a men twice his size to the floor, crying like children.  I have never witnessed him lose a fight though I have heard of one where he got tossed around and out of a bar by a 6'6" redneck.  He had the sense enough to take off running after crashing out the door and onto the pavement.  I couldn't have asked for anyone better to be there with me when I decided to start some shit.  In this instance, not being completely sloshed but just buzzed enough not to give a shit, and the fact that the guy looked like a pansy, I figured I could handle it on my own.

                Just I had thought, it didn't take much of my rabble rousing to get the man's attention.  He had more balls than I would have given him credit for.  He slowly rose from his seat and motioned to his girl what I assumed was him telling her he had this under control.  He should have thought better.  He took the two steps from his table to mine and without a word out of his mouth or mine; I swiftly came out of my booth and connected a solid hook from my right hand to his left cheek, right under his eye.  He folded like a lawn chair, but to my surprise he burst right back up as if he had a large industrial spring attached to his ass.  He had taken one, I was determined now to see how many more he could withstand.  I met his forehead with a belt that combined his upward force with my downward thrust.  He reeled back on his heels as I shook my fist and took a step towards him.   That last strike had hurt my hand but I couldn't let this fucker regain his ground.  He had taken two hard blows from me and was still standing.  I am not a very strong man but I have learned that once you catch a man off guard with the first wallop it was usually over with.  Trying to save my right hand, I came across and put my left fist directly on his jaw as I stepped towards him.  I leaned all I had into that one.  I thought briefly that if he did not go down with that one I was going to have to take him to the ground and just lay into him.  Luckily the man couldn't handle any more and spilled across the floor sending a bloody geyser out of his mouth and splattering in a nasty display over the rather clean floor.  He lay there, unconscious and I looked back at Holden who had not budged from where he was.  I spun around and gave him a giant smile and shrugged my shoulders in that, "Oh well." or "I don't know." manner and motioned towards the door.

                In all of this, the stranger's girl had sat in shock and was just now able to make herself realize what had happened.  I stepped over him as she came rushing to his side.  I kind of brushed her with my shin and this sent her into a rage.  She was screaming at someone to call the cops and how could they just be standing around.  She was demanding someone, I don't know who, to restrain us and get her significant other some help.  Everyone that had any power to detain us just watched as we walked casually out of the door.  We have been in here at least a dozen times since said savagery, both alone and together, and have never been reprimanded or threatened with expulsion.  I vow to not make today one of those types of endeavors.  I am in no mood for confrontations.  I just want to relax.

                Strange memories.  I pass the hostess and make my way to the bar.  I perch upon one of the swiveling stools closer to the T.V.  It's tuned to a local station, airing some midday talk show.  For whose amusement, I wasn't sure.  I reach into my back pocket and retrieve my wallet.  I take out a twenty and lay it across the bar directly in front of me.  This lets the bartender know that I am ready and that I am in it for at least that much.  And why not.  Twenty dollars’ worth of beer, that's all I plan on drinking in here, was a good place to start.  Like I said earlier, I will tend to the rest of my debauchery comfortably on the couch of my own humble abode.

                The bartender comes out of nowhere to take my order.  "What can I get you sir?" he asks in a genuine tone.

                "Bud light in a bottle."

                He reaches right below him and apprehends an ice cold bottle and removes the top.  He places it directly in front of me on a coaster bearing the same emblem.  I rapidly down a large portion and pull my cigarettes out of my pants pocket.  I fumble one out and lay the pack parallel to the coaster.  I have weird little niches like that.  I wouldn't go as far as to call it OCD but some would argue the point.  I don't go around tapping on everything or counting floor tiles.  I just like the neatness it presents.  I don't go crazy or feel like something bad is going to happen if something is out of place.  It's just something that I do. 

                I pick a book of matches out of the bowl sitting arm lengths away.  I tear one of the paper matches out and strike it against the provided strip.   Slowly and with no concern at all I hold it up to my cigarette and pull deeply.  I shake the match to extinguish the fine flame and toss it into the ashtray.  I can honestly say that there is nothing better than a cold beer teamed with a hot cigarette.  Maybe the cigarette you smoke immediately after finishing a joint.  That's the only thing I can compare it to.

                Holding the cigarette in my mouth I drum my fingers on the bar.  I glance up at the tube to see what kind of bullshit is passing for day time T.V.  It's some fat lady talking about how she thinks her husband is cheating on her with her cousin.  If the cousin is even forty pounds lighter than this hog I am currently staring at then all I can say to the man is congrats.  Fat people, and I mean morbidly obese, not just what Cosmo deems as fat nowadays, are another group that irks the shit out of me.  I hate seeing those fucks in Wal-Mart who are just too heavy and lazy to walk so you catch them in one of those motorized shopping buggies.  The buggy is struggling dearly to haul the load it has been saddled with and the lard ass in it can't believe it won't go any faster.  Fucking Christ.  I just get the urge to run up to them and scream, "Get off your corpulent ass!  Put down the ho-hos and cheeseburgers and waddle that monolithic, bawdy, thing you call a body around something!  Then, maybe just then, you wouldn't have to purchase two fucking theater seats when you go and watch the new Harry Potter, you slothful excuse for a human being!"

                That seems a bit harsh I know.  I haven't been known to do that just yet, but I wouldn't put it past me.  I just shudder when I think about it.  Anyway the mammoth woman is steadily cursing and reassuring the audience that she is going to beat both of their asses if it turns out to be true.  I really don't think that is going to happen.  The only thing that woman has ever beat down was a bucket of the colonel's original recipe.  I turn my attention away from the set to see who else was enjoying a midday cocktail.  The usual suspects.  I am sure that most of them are in the same boat I am.  Unemployed free loaders who somehow manage to make the rent every month and somehow still have enough cash to come in such places and enjoy life as they see fit.

                I snub my cigarette out in the nearby ashtray and quaff the remainder of my beer.  The bartender, not being too busy, notices this at once and obliges me with another.  This is the kind of service I like.

                "What time have you got sir?"  I casually inquire as he tosses the empty bottle into a large receptacle next to him.

                "I've got 1:20."

                "Thanks.  Hey can you make a Long Island Ice Tea like that cute little blond that is usually in here?"

                "Her's are pretty good, but I guess I could give it a try."

                "It would be pretty cool if you did."

                "Alright man.  I will give it my best shot.  If it's not up to par let’s say it's on me."  He said this with kind of a flare.  I'm not real sure if his willingness to buy the drink had any underlying tone, but who am I to turn down a free drink.

                "You're my kind of guy."  As this comes out of my mouth I realize that if his comment was any kind of innuendo then that is probably the worst thing I could have said.

                I speedily turn around to check the door.  One, I am checking for Holden's much needed arrival and two, I desperately need to break eye contact with the bartender.  Please Holden come on.  I need you man.

                "Here you are sir." voices the bartender as he slides my drink over closer to me.  I hastily push the cash towards him without tasting the drink.  I need no reason to feel obligated to this could be fairy.  I have nothing against homosexuals; I just don't care to date them.  He takes the money with a slight frown and almost confirms my suspicion.  If it disappoints him not to be able to buy my drink that is a sure sign.

                I hear the door whine on its squeaky hinges and swing my neck around with brutal speed and force.  It's him.  Thank god.  This should definitely take the bartender's attention from me.  I rise to meet him and suggest we get a booth.  He agrees and I gather my things and head for a booth at the farthest end of the room.  Holden goes to the bar and orders what I assume is Crown and Coke.  He settles in across from me in the booth and takes out his own pack of smokes.

                "Fuck man, I needed to get outta there.  Grace has been crawling up my ass all morning." he airs with a sense of relief.  He strikes his lighter and flames the Marlboro dangling from his lips.  His voice is just as I had suspected earlier, slightly slurred of alcohol.

                "What's she on your ass about today?"

 

                "What do you think?  She's bitching, saying that I have been drinking too much here lately."

                "And your answer to that was to call me out for more drinks."  I chuckle as this seeps out of my mouth.  "How much have you drank this morning?  I can kind of hear you slurring your words."

                "Man I hadn't had any more than usual this morning till she started in on me.  After that I went to the garage, smoked a joint and downed about half a pint of Forty Creek."  He takes a generous swill from his glass and thumbs his ashes into the tray.

                "Fuck and you drove over here?"

                "Hell yeah.  I had to get outta there.  I might have had to kill that bitch if I was forced to stay there much longer.  You know how she gets."

                "I don't think it's just her there man.  I think most women are that way.  That's unless you hook up with someone just as deviant as you or I.  Then we would probably be dead within a week."  Holden laughs at this comment and swallows the rest of his drink.  He glances around and eyes the bartender.  He motions him over and demands another drink, this time with a beer on the side.  I go ahead and order another beer just so I don't have to see him any more than necessary.  He scampers away and I fill Holden in on the odd moment I had shared with the bartender, that I now was for sure was a homo.  Watching him prance over here was a dead giveaway.  Holden laughs heavily at this, making a comment about how he could be good for me.  I shush him with a wave of my hand and retrieve another smoke.

                "So did you have any plans for the day before she drove you to get twisted?"  I inquire as the barkeep traipses over with a tray possessing our drinks.  We take the beverages without word or eye contact.  Nothing to send this cock hungry loon into a sex crazed frenzy.

                "Not really.  Was honestly just gonna hang around the house and clean up a little.  Maybe grill some lunch.  I don't know.  Had all intentions of keeping it mellow.  I think that's why I started drinking so early you know.  Just hang around, catch a good buzz, take a nap if need be.  You know that sort of day."

                "Yeah.  That's about all I was gonna get into myself, minus the grilling part.  I am tired.  Still trying to recover from last night."  He burst into laughter as I was saying this.  He apparently knew something I didn't.

                "Yeah.  You royally pissed Grace off last night too.  I could probably blame you for her waking up in such a bad fucking mood this morning."

                "When do I not piss her off?  She's got a bug up her ass for me."  This was true.  She was a conservative ex-high school cheerleader.  One of those snobby, princess types I avoided at all cost in high school and as much as I could now.  We had to struggle to get along just for Holden's sake.

                "True. True.  Anyway, so what's up now?"  He asks as he slowly sips his drinks this go around.

                "Not a lot.  Woke up this morning feeling like shit.  Took another Xanax, drank a few beers and now I'm here.  Oh shit, I ain't told you about my car!  I pummeled something last night.  I don't know what.  I am sure it was just a dog.  There was fur and blood on my bumper this morning and the piece was leaking transmission fluid.  I left the bastard at the house and walked up here."   His jaw drops slightly open as I explain this to him.

                "Where at?"

                "I don't have a clue.  I don't actually remember anything.  I just noticed it this morning on my way here."

                "Man you gotta start being more careful.  You're gonna end up killing yourself or someone else.  How sure are you that it was a dog?"

                I take another gulp of beer and light another smoke.  "Pretty sure.  I mean what else could it have been?"

                "A fucking person!"

                "Nah.  It was real low on the car.  No other damage was done except for a busted grille and a fracture in the bumper.  If it had been anything larger it would have rolled over the hood and done more damage."

                The barkeep returns and asks us if there is anything else he can get for us.  We both order another beer and leave the hard stuff alone for the moment.  He swaggers back to the bar to fill our order.  I finish my Long Island Ice Tea and push the glass towards the edge of the table.  Holden does the same.

                "I guarantee you that it won't happen tonight."  I say with a chuckle.  "For one I'm not driving and for two I am gonna try and not get totally twisted.  That's my only hard drink." I said pointing at the tall empty glass that once contained my ice tea.

                "It's Friday night.  You're not trying to go out tonight?"

                "Nope.  I ain't got much money.  Gotta save what I can.  I do need a favor though.  When we leave here I need a ride to the beer store.  I'm gonna get a case of beer and chill at the house."

                "Well I'm sure I will probably go to Fat Jack's later tonight.  I am sure I will have to check in with Grace before then, but I don't plan on staying at the house long.  Kiss the little girl, tell Grace to kiss my ass and then hit the door again."  We laugh our asses off as the tender lays our drinks on the table.

                We both take our drinks, finishing the ones in front of us.  The conversation starts to lag a bit as we wander off into our individual thoughts.  I can hear the libertines on the tube arguing over their sexual misconducts.  I snuff my cigarette as Holden lights on for himself.

                "Man I gotta take a piss."  Holden explains as he retreats from the booth.  I sip my beer and scan the room to see if any other degenerates have entered.  None that I can see.  My head swarms with thoughts of what could have happened last night.  I feel uneasy when things like that happen.  I guess it will be a little while before my head clears on the subject and I can rest easily.  I hear a break in the disgusting show that passes as day time T.V. and catch what would soon be the deciding factor in my mental breakdown.  I direct my attention to the set as a young attractive reporter fills the screen.

                "Today at five o'clock.  Police search for a car involved in a hit and run accident on County Avenue, claiming the life of a young female jogger.........."

                My heart stops in its tracks.  Strange flashbacks swarm my mind's eye.  I see myself behind the wheel leaving Holden's.  I make the journey out of his park with no problem.  A sudden jump to me swerving violently on a road I wasn't sure of.  And then I can see myself nodding off.  When my head drops I quickly yank it back up and once again swerve violently only this time I see a faint silhouette of what I assume is a person followed by the terrible noise of me striking an unmovable object.  My body lurches forward allowing me to roughly kiss the steering wheel.  Another flash and I am conscious, putting the car in reverse and limping back onto the street.  All of these visions happen in a matter of seconds, which to me feels like forever.  I lose all color in my cheeks and began to feel faint.  I see Holden returning jubilantly from the restroom and he notices my lack of pigment from a distance.

                "Dax!  Dax, are you okay?  What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asks wearily.  I can't speak.  My throat is slowly closing in on itself.  What had I done?  Could that have been me?  Were those flashbacks the only memories I have of killing someone?  What the fuck is going to happen next?  My future looks very bleak at this moment.  All I can see is blackness.  Everything in front of me was nonexistent.  I recede into my own darkness.  Nothing seems real.  I stumble from the seat and lurch for the door.  When I make it outside my stomach immediately lets loose.  I glare up to the sky and realize that the rest of my life was going to be that of an outlaw or an inmate, and that is a hell of a realization for a seemingly untouchable 24 year old.