an old man at 21

[hossthomas]

An Old Man at Twenty One
by
Joshua D. Thomas

I wake up on the floor, on somebody’s floor, somewhere. The place stinks, puke and stale beer, with a hint of piss thrown in for good measure. I drag myself into a sitting position and, digging in my pockets, find a battered pack of cigarettes with a single equally battered survivor inside. I light up, take a drag, turn my head and puke. The hangover’s bad, and I think about just laying down in my puke and saying fuck it. But I’ve got a thirst, and all I see are empty bottles lying around.
I get to my feet, gagging and heaving as the room spins, and look at my surroundings. I’m in a small, dingy living room. There’s some guy asleep on the couch and another one under the butt-scarred, bottle covered coffee table. I don’t recognize either one of them, but I see the front door. I step out onto some street, in some town, and it doesn’t really matter which one because they’re all the same. Two blocks down I find a gas station, buy a pack of cigarettes and a forty ounce beer. I drink the beer and smoke a cigarette behind the gas station, standing beside the dumpster.
The hangover is a little better, not much. Wandering around this town, wherever the hell it is, I should be thinking deep thoughts about loneliness, sadness, the death of the written word. But I’m not thinking about much of anything. I come to a bar, go inside, take a stool. Drinking cheap beer and well whiskey, trying to pick a fight. It works.
He’s a big guy, all scars and attitude. I’ve got a few scars of my own and possibly the worlds shittiest attitude. The bartender tells us to take it outside before the punching starts. The big guy is drunk, I’m probably drunker, and I’m well aware that’s not a word. He throws the first one, straight and hard, smashes my lips against my teeth. I grin at him, tasting my own blood, and throw my own. He’s tough, a real scrapper, we end up on the ground, him on top of me. I catch him with a good one in the adams apple and he rolls to the side. I give him a few more in the face, and then I’m bored.
I go back in the bar, sit back down, order another whiskey. The bartender keeps giving me dirty looks, I don’t care. My whiskey tastes like blood. Or my blood tastes like whiskey. Or something else. I don’t care.
The bar closes and I leave, stumbling and staggering along the streets, some city, somewhere. I wonder vaguely where I’ll sleep, but then again, I don’t even know where I am, so it’s a moot point. Everything is, tonight anyway.
I come to this little park. I sit on a bench by a little pond, smoking a cigarette, and I puke. I puke until I pass out, and then something wakes me up, a sharp poking in my ribs. Opening my eyes, I see this cop standing over me. Little blue smurf uniform and a big smoky the bear hat. Goddamn, what a joke.
“What do you think you’re doing, buddy?”
“Sleeping.” I say.
“You can’t sleep here. Move along, buddy.”
I don’t say anything, just get up and start to walk away.
“Hold on a second. Have you been drinking tonight, buddy?”
No way he could let it be that easy. Bastard.
“Yeah, I had a few.”
After that, you know the drill. Free ride, finger printing, picture taken, tiny little room with no seat on the toilet and a concrete floor to sleep on. Still no idea where I was, but at least I knew where I’d be sleeping.

[peetie44]

hoss,

Good story. It was paced quickly, flowed nice and I think most guys that drink could relate to most or all of it. Sometimes, the race must be run to completion.

Your wandering into a random bar and picking a fight part brings back some (hazy) memories. It took me until my mid-30's before I got that out of my system. Now, (at 56), I feel I have a basic working-knowledge of diplomacy. But every once in awhile, the old urge to get mean starts to awaken.

But I leave it to you young bucks.

[hossthomas]

I appreciate the complements, peetie. That's a true story that I simply added (or at least attempted to ad) a literary flair to. Coincidentally, when I woke up in the drunk tank, I found out that the city was Asheville, North Carolina.

[peetie44]

I appreciate the complements, peetie. That's a true story that I simply added (or at least attempted to ad) a literary flair to. Coincidentally, when I woke up in the drunk tank, I found out that the city was Asheville, North Carolina.

That's a very historical city; a good college town. I've played music there several times. Ty Cobb used to work-out there in the baseball pre-season, back in his day.

[drunken parrot]

a truly beautiful story man, very poetic.
21 ain't nothing, imagine yourself at 30 and you will be in my world....and yes you will make it there if you don't do hard drugs----cheers---i'd buy you a drink if i could because i was there at 21

[hossthomas]

Thanks, I'm glad you liked the story. I'm actually a few days shy of 24 now, that's just a story I wrote when I was 21 and thought it was appropriate for the board.

[Wings Of Wax]

I appreciate the complements, peetie. That's a true story that I simply added (or at least attempted to ad) a literary flair to. Coincidentally, when I woke up in the drunk tank, I found out that the city was Asheville, North Carolina.

Where did you journey start out? Just for reference...

I like your no-nonsense style too.

[hossthomas]

I appreciate the complements, peetie. That's a true story that I simply added (or at least attempted to ad) a literary flair to. Coincidentally, when I woke up in the drunk tank, I found out that the city was Asheville, North Carolina.

Where did you journey start out? Just for reference...

I like your no-nonsense style too.

I started out drinking in Johnson City, TN about three days before waking up in Asheville.

Thank you for the compliment.

[whiskeyprick]

I liked the story, and totally forgot about the one I was gonna pst.

[nielsen522]

what a story but it's very poetic. you really drink alot to be in that kind of mess. hahaha.. Fortunately, I remember I got drunk also at age 21 but I ended in my home not in jail :P peace! :)

[Steve]

Like it, it has a simple effective style. No mincing words or wasting time.

I can relate to the attitude, rather than the events as I have not been jailed for drunkeness (yet). Which is a miracle, when I think about it.