As I wander down the street at eight in the morning, the stale smell of this god-awful city lingers in my nostrils. With the minimal amount of sleep I've had over the past four days, I realize I can't tell if the smell is coming from this foul terrain, or me. The streets are littered with cigarette butts, broken liquor bottles, and those little baggies that are used to store drugs. And they're strewn with hobos and prostitutes.
Saturday morning insomnia. No sleep for me last night. I don't need sleep anymore. I've learned to live off of booze, cigarettes, and cheap gas-station sandwiches. I work a shitty security job to fuel my vices, my "extravagant lifestyle." I'm only 22, but most of the time i find it difficult to differentiate between myself and any run-of-the-mill, 40-something vagrant. I have pretensions of sipping 12 year old, single malt scotch, but in reality, I live in dive bars drinking the three dollar well scotch, stumbling out shortly after last call, shit-faced. I'm not James Bond, I'm a drunk who's no better than your average wino. I rarely even leave my house anymore, except to go to work or the bar. And I usually go to the bar before and/or after work. So essentially I don't leave the house without going to a bar before I make it home again. Some people say I'm an alcoholic, or that I drink too much... But what is too much really? And is there really anything better i should be doing with my time? Well... you know what they say: "Some people drink to remember, and some drink to forget." I can't even remember why I'm drinking.
