Stepped out of the restroom and I decided against buying another pint. My head was spinning too much.
When I left the pub, I felt I was going to choke. I spent five hours in that place, drinking my angst away, and the warm atmosphere got into me plenty. The coldness of the 2 a.m. air cuts inside me with ease.
It's weird. I always mocked and laughed at those muppets who got themselves too drunk and couldn't walk properly on the pavement, and here I am, going in a zig-zag fashion on the cobblestone, trying to leverage myself with the help of...air, I suppose.
My eyes can barely stay up. I have to prick them open once every ten seconds with my fingers.
I should be walking one step at a time judging by how the grapefruit in the noggin feels, yet I go three-to-four, and I feel this won't end well.
People have given up passing me by. They cross the street instead, giving me their displeasure through their words and gestures. I wish I could verbally reply, but I can only smile.
... Like that, I mistook a step on the side of the street and arrived on the street. Maybe I should cross, too.
The coast is clear for my passing. Easy, one, two...can't breathe. Crap. In the middle of the road I'm feeling Vader's glove on my throat. Why now of all times?
My eyes are fading and I'm feeling a bright light on me. Did someone turn the...
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