Nice doggy: Page two
Time passed, beer was guzzled. The folks I was with had been to that parking lot before… at least THEY knew where I was. I began to get pretty drunk as the evening went on, and that lead to the INEVITIBLE fight with my psychotic, drunken girlfriend. It's a fact of nature folks… drunks are morons, we were no exception.
How did I end up walking alone down a country road in the middle of nowhere during the pitch-black dead of night?
Well, long story short, she provoked me until I got so angry I said… "I'm walking home", and off I went. Like I said, we were drunken morons. It was fall, so I was wearing my leather jacket (like a biker jacket but I was not a biker, just a head-banger). I loaded up my jacket with cans of beer for the road (it could hold a six-pack!) and started walking. I picked the direction I THOUGHT we came from. I was drunk enough to think I could actually find a road with traffic so that I might thumb a ride home. If you have ever been really drunk you may understand that at that moment in time it seemed like a good plan… honestly, it did.
So there I was, stubborn and drunk, shambling my way home during the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, barely able to see even the road beneath my feet. I had a total of eight beers when I started my journey, six in my jacket and one in each hand. On more than one occasion the road curved without me realizing it and I walked right off it. I had to actually feel around for where the road went!
To make matters worse, the combination of nearly total blackness, and a mind numbing alcohol buzz put me into occasional bouts of claustrophobia. I would have to stop stumbling along and get a grip on myself before I could panic. Of course, this was still not enough to make me turn back the way I had come (remember the drunken moron thing from earlier?).
I walked for miles. I had no clue how LONG I had walked as I had no watch, but I know that I walked for miles. As I was opening my fifth beer I saw a light up ahead of me. By this point I was beginning to tire badly, and with only three beers left in my jacket I would have welcomed any opportunity to stop walking and maybe secure a ride home. I managed to quicken my pace so that I could find the source of the light. I was really clinging to the hope of maybe a gas station or something similarly helpful (even a closed one with a pay phone would have done the trick). You can imagine my disappointment when I saw a dilapidated farmhouse instead.
-John Alexander (aka SirJohn)
