Nirvana
He looked as if
some
one had appointed
him
Group Leader of
Grey
Panthers for Kurt-the
fan
club. His xxx loss leader
tee shirt touted some
significant phrasing from
the works of the
master,
something about The Light
going out when Kurt
dies---
or, maybe, it was the concept
of Nirvana that totally
turned
him on, a state he was
rapidly
approaching, fast
feeding
himself a strict diet
of
donut holes by the
box
full, washed down
with
regular Green
Mountain
black coffee mixed
50/50
with high test
Anisette,
a slower death by far
than
sucking on shotgun
shells
but much less messy, a
fact
his equivalent of
Courtney
Love was sure to
appreciate.
Drinking
and Driving for Pay
No one was sure if
he
had coined the
company's
unofficial motto,
"Don't
drive drunk, leave the
drunk
driving to us." But he
might
as well have, the way
he
drank and drove, with a
license and without,
though
since they'd begun
taking
those DWI laws
seriously,
life wasn't filled with so
many
rich experiences behind
the
wheel, made earning
an
honest living harder and
harder
every year. Used to be
you
could bribe a guy a couple
of
cases of St. Paul Girl
Dark
to look the other way if
they
had to pull you over and
found
you'd been working for
three
months without a
license.
Hell, in the old days,
anything
was possible, more than
likely
they'd just take your keys
away,
if they thought you'd had
too
many, and tell you to sleep
it
off somewhere safe, which
usually meant in the car,
any-
where not on the road, hell,
who
even wants to think about
climbing
stairs to get in an apartment
and
besides, they had the
keys.
Man, Sundays were the
worst,
all those clanging church
bells
and pious people dressed up
for
an audience with God. You
know,
God must have been a
drinker
to invent a world like this
one
or so he had to believe,
waking up
with a worse than death
hangover,
one eye swollen shut and
focused
on the sordid pleasures of
night
and the other, bloodshot and
raw,
watching the disapproving
masses
on their way to confer with
the Lord.
Last Call for
Alcohol
Unnaturally
white,
he looks as if
he'd
been giving
blood
at a house party
in
Dracula's castle,
says,
"Not exactly. Actually,
I've been in the
hospital.
Lost somewhere like
seven
or eight pints of
blood
in a couple of
days.
They showed me what it
looks like inside
where
the ulcer burst. Next time
I won't be shitting
blood,
I'll be hemorrhaging
inside
instead. If there is a
next
time, it will be the
morgue
instead of ER. I'll have
an Iced Tea and a
bowl
of soup." He looked as
if
'sacred shitless'
might
describe his
demeanor.
Still this was a guy
who
had received last
rites
in an alcoholic coma
twice,
maybe three times, in the
past
and went right back
on
the sauce. Hell, what was
a couple of pints of
blood
among friends compared to
that?
From Brain Damage
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