Tuesday’s no different than Friday.
Sometimes there’s nothing more to say. Sometimes, even if there were, no one there to listen. I just got home. I poured my first drink. Kicked off my shoes. On the couch in my socks, shorts and t-shirt. Work is 37 miles and an hour and a half behind me now. Heading back to the kitchen to pour another. I’m going to keep pouring them till the night is all poured away.
No radio tonight. No t.v. either. The neighbors’ cat isn’t snooping around my porch. My dinner comes wrapped paper most nights. Sleep evades me. The morning is more cruel each new day.
In my bed I stare up into the darkness. The darkness stares back into me.
I listen to the night. I hear a planes’ engine echoing high and far way. I hear the angry car horn violently being smashed by some poor desperate fuck. I hear the girl in the apartment across the way humping herself in her sheets.
Sometimes I think that maybe I should wish for the morning to never come. Sometimes I hold on on tooth and nail that I see the sun again.
I guess the night wasn’t so easy as I’d hoped. Thank the Lord that I picked up that second bottle to finish the job, and finish it right.