53.

I hit a cross street I think I recognize and my drunk GPS steers me to my new home. I feel dried crusted blood and snot on my forehead. War paint. Fucking homophobe deserved it. I stumble down the street, each step wild and erratic. My balance is atrocious, the ground feels unstable and ever shifting. Like the deck of a boat at sea, tilting every which way, but the way you need. I see blinding white lights scream towards me. Maybe a car, maybe a train, maybe a rocket ship. It speeds past me, roaring down the street, I hear endless wailing. Not sure if it's in ecstasy or agony. My drunk GPS tells me to turn left and I obey. I burp something foul and taste the familiar memories of vomit. Too much mixing boozes tonight. Too much scavenging and salvaging. I lean against a tree and let it loose. A rainbow sea of bile spills out of me. Every color, every flavor. I see a little red tamale of a Seconal hidden amongst the shore of puke and almost instinctively I reach out to grab it. But somewhere, some tiny little thing I barely know called self restraint stops me. I try to ignore it, to not be wasteful of the good fun stuff but his argument is compelling. I say goodbye to my little red friend.

"You are gone, but not forgotten."