Kissing Carrion
“At Delphi, you are known as Aphrodite on the Tomb.
—Christine Downing Don’t threaten me with love, baby.
— Billie Holiday SWEAT, FEVER—I WOKE coughing glass. Down to Lee Earle’s for twelve on the dot, just him, me and the other regulars: Two any-age habitual D-and-D offenders—one male, one not—and a clutch of pyramid-scheme drones from the strip-mall office space, still loud and wired after an all-night selling jag.
Listening to Georgia Gibbs’ “Kiss of Fire” on endless repeat, slowl...y teasing my lingering bourbon-fume haze back into a righteous full-on drunk; studying the scar tissue on my knuckles, wondering just how long I would have to keep this up before I either died from liver damage or got myself killed in a brawl. I hoped not that much longer, but suspected I hoped in vain.
The count: four years this Valentine’s, and still going.
The record, thus far unbroken: never any more than two or so days spent sober, in between trips to the dry-out ward or the tank.MoreLess
—Christine Downing Don’t threaten me with love, baby.
— Billie Holiday SWEAT, FEVER—I WOKE coughing glass. Down to Lee Earle’s for twelve on the dot, just him, me and the other regulars: Two any-age habitual D-and-D offenders—one male, one not—and a clutch of pyramid-scheme drones from the strip-mall office space, still loud and wired after an all-night selling jag.
Listening to Georgia Gibbs’ “Kiss of Fire” on endless repeat, slowl...y teasing my lingering bourbon-fume haze back into a righteous full-on drunk; studying the scar tissue on my knuckles, wondering just how long I would have to keep this up before I either died from liver damage or got myself killed in a brawl. I hoped not that much longer, but suspected I hoped in vain.
The count: four years this Valentine’s, and still going.
The record, thus far unbroken: never any more than two or so days spent sober, in between trips to the dry-out ward or the tank.MoreLess
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