My housemate W and I went shopping at a fancy market at the X. It’s a good store. It has things like Best Foods Mayonnaise, and Blue Diamond Almonds, and Old El Paso refried beans. You know. Regular food. It also has a normal meat section (instead of random slices of dead beast stacked in room temperature bins).
I got myself some treats, cause, hell, why not? I got olives. 4 pints of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice. A pint of Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream for $16 US. Fuck it. Why not? I’d spend that on drinks in a heartbeat, right? Grabbed some bratwursts to fry up for dinner, and a couple of French rolls, along with a big box full of smaller boxes of milk, because all the good milk here is shelf milk, needing no refrigeration. Refrigerated milk isn’t safe to drink.
And I was feeling good.
We had walked to the market a decent distance, and hell no, I wasn’t walking back loaded down with all this crap, especially with the Y metro station right there in front of me. Anyhow, W wanted to walk back, so we parted, and off he went.
I paused to smoke a cigarette before going into the subway.
Gin and tonic.
You heard me. Gin and tonic. Hendricks, lime, tonic. Two of them should do it. Well, OK, three maybe. No one will know. Just do it quick. Do it now. Look, you’re going to these meetings and introducing yourself as a newcomer anyway, just cause you smoked some weed, which never hurt anyone. Fuck them and their rules. Go to the meeting tomorrow like nothing happened, introduce yourself as a newcomer as usual, no difference.
Deep breath. Think, think, think. What the fuck is going on? Where did that come from? Am I really going to do this?
Open the wallet. There’s the paper STOP sign, right next to the picture of my daughter.
Reach into my pocket. 60 day chip. Squeeze it tight.
Walk into the subway. Get out at subway station Z. Exit three. 4-minute walk to the front door. Go inside. Pull out the ice cream. Fuck, why do you have to be so damn frozen? Get the big kitchen knife. Angrily stab ice cream until some chunks come loose. Eat chunks. Open pint of grapefruit juice. Drink it all.
OK… Ok… ok… o…
Exhale. Pour the rest of the coffee into the French press. Start the water.
W walks in. “B! You have to measure it! That’s what this scooper is for. You’re being wasteful!”
“Dude, I’ll tell you what. I’ll go out and buy my own personal bag of coffee, alright? Because I don’t want to fucking hear about it, I’m going to make my fucking coffee however the fuck I want, understand?”
“OK, B. But if we’re going to share…”
“I said fine!”
Go outside to the patio to smoke a cigarette.
“Hold on there B. Before you light that, let me get clothes off the clothes line first.” (Because I get my panties in bunch every time I smell a whiff of tobacco.)
Seethe. Breathe. Wait. Smoke. Go back inside.
“Hey, W? Let’s cook our dinners separately tonight. I’m not ready to eat, and I’m guessing you are. Now I’m going into my room for a while.” (Because you picked a really bad time to bitch at me about bullshit, and if I stay out here I’m going to say some shit I’ll regret.)
And here I am in my room. It’s March 9th and I’m still sober.