Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.


“For the past few days now I’ve been waking up with a headache the size of a frat boy’s hangover (even though I haven’t had a drink for a while now), coughing like Winston Smith did in 1984, and for the rest of the day I always seem to be perpetually narcoleptic, even more than usual,” The author told his good friend while watching the latest sitcom on the television.

It was a cold afternoon, unseasonably even. It was April, and yet the temperatures reached February levels. A bird flew lazily by the window, uncaring, like most birds are with the matters of humans. The friend speaks, “Shut up, man. I’m trying to watch TV. Go take a damn pill if you’re so damn sick, or go take a nap if you’re so tired.”

The author is unfazed by his friend’s bluntness, after all, it was one of the more reedeming qualities. He walks over to the kitchen counter, littered with leftover fortune cookies, a half-empty bottle of tequila and various unpaid bills. Little thoughts filled his mind, as if breaking the ennui, but more likely there to just stress him the fuck out. His left eye twitched nervously as he peered into the refrigerator. Apparently, someone drank all of the beer. The author opens a cabinet to find some aspirin, which he immediately took down with a glass of tap water.

The sound of keys jingle outside of the door, and it slowly creeps open. It was the author’s other roommate. The roommate yells, “Went on a beer run! Got ourselves some Budweiser! Ye-ah!”

And it was in that single moment that all of the cares in the author’s word seemed to melt away. Little did he know that aspirin and alcohol don’t really mix well.


One Comment on “alcohol”

  1. christine says:

    hm. . . . . . . . . . .

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