My old friend.
Very few things are worse than a shitty pizza. You can come home from a shitty job and then go out for a bite. Order a pizza, and if it’s good, the job, the day, can easily be forgotten. Throw in a pitcher of beer, life is perfect.
However, you can have an awesome job, impressive biceps, good hair and take the young pretty blonde with bad teeth from Starbucks out on a date. I’m talking a homerun. But if the pizza is bad, the whole night goes to shit. She might not notice, or even care. But you’ll notice. And still tip the jerky waiter very well.
Tonight there is no young pretty blonde. No good pizza. No pitchers of beer.
Tonight there was a pit stop to the store for a fresh bottle of tequila and a 24 oz. bottle of Heineken.
Four shots down the line, the beer and a frozen pizza in the microwave. My bed will be empty as I left it this morning. My feet slightly swollen. The pizza carries me through the night.
What will carry me through the days.
There is nothing for you. There is nothing for me.
Nothing for anyone, unless there is more tequila.
One more shot.
One more day.
One last night.