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Promise Keeper | bananarama

It was a relief to get back home. I looked at the clock and couldn’t believe what I saw. It was two fifteen. What a jam packed couple of hours. This was life the way I saw fit. Who really had time to work? Life on this planet was an irreplaceable commodity. What was a day worth? What were the past two hours worth?

Crystal makes one hundred and seventy dollars in eight hours. I cannot trade a day for that. I wouldn’t trade two hours for that. Then again it is nice to have a house and cognac.

I poured a nice glass of cognac and took a sip. The weed had left me with a bit of a headache and I popped a Vicodin and wandered through the house, sipping and thinking about Gloria.

Vicodin 500 mg / 5 mg

I decided to ride to the city college before Crystal got home. I didn’t want to have to lie about where I was going beforehand. I didn’t want to get too drunk before going. This was going to be a problem, seeing as how I had too much time to kill before the meeting.

It occurred to me that if I got totally hammered immediately, I’d have a chance to sleep it off first. This sounded like a viable solution. I considered pouring cognac down my neck. This often put me to sleep, but left me in a state of blunt confusion and dementia for hours after I awoke. I wanted to be sharp for the girl.

I went into the garage and lay down on the weight bench. I studied the banana peel and contemplated meditation. I imagined dozens of banana peels swinging in Panama.
Bananapa. Pananaba. Cortes and Montezuma and Pocahontas and Marlon Brando. I began to sing.

“I been to Hollywood, I been to redwood, I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold………………..”

NEXT : Back-to-school

1 Comment»

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