When I turned on the TV, the freeway was on fire. The fucking freeway! That moment of slight interest fled as quickly as it started. I began to yawn, stretch my arms, and look at the alarm clock. It was twenty minutes before five. The pain killers increased my regular hour nap by four. On my way to the rest room, I tripped over a cup containing my paintbrush and brown colored water. “That’s cool.” I thought following the trail of water flooding towards the door, which also gave a quickie surprise.
Starting from the very top of the door, down to the bottom, the following words were painted: “The worker bee can come and go. The queen bee is their slave.” The paint was fresh. I open the door knocking some more cups over on my way to take a piss.
Ahead of me is the hallway. As I approach the bathroom I can see the dining room and the ghost of my dad six hours ago telling me “Don’t even fucking joke about that. If you paint on anything in this house you’ll be sorry!”
I cut left into the restroom and pulled out my dick through the piss hole in my boxers. Random memories traveled through my brain, like I had been asleep for a hundred years and my brain was trying to catch up. “You are somewhat of a narcissist.” A voice said in my head. I began to quote myself, vocally, quoting someone else, “I simply like to watch myself exist.”
In the process of decompressing my thoughts, I forgot where I was for a moment. When the awareness set in, I saw myself in the bathroom cabinet mirror, holding my dick leaking urine like a water faucet that won’t close all the way. “helloooo.” I said before flushing the toilet on my way out.
The way my house is furnished looks like I have two living rooms; One with a T.V., the other with a computer. I drag one of the love seats that appear heavy due to its size, but are really made of cheap wood that feels similar to card board. The instant messenger on the computer monitor says, “hey Mitch-what’s up?”
Looking at the key board, my hands are scrapping the insides of my pocket until I finally pull out a white capsule with a few lint hairs tied around it. I put this pill in my mouth and swallow.
Words form as I type them, letter by letter, “Thinking of something I can converse about, listening to music. What about you?” I do more normal internet shit while I wait for my friend’s response. I guess he’s a friend by a loosest definition. I’m not sure if you can call someone you’ve never met, a friend.
“Well what have you been doing lately? Your always doing wild things.” True, to an extent. But I don’t really feel like elaborating on current events.
“Nothing. I’ve been hibernating all day. Thinking and doing nothing. I went on another one of my soma holidays.”
This guy, Elijah, lived an hour from where I stayed. We started talking through an internet forum for people who were bored or liked to argue. The topics ranged from everything and nothing.
The speakers ding every time he replies. “Are you still doing pointillism?” I multi-task two things; A) typing to him and B) writing down driving directions to a hotel where a bushel of internet boys and girls are going to drink.
“Pointillism. Only drunk!”
I was then reminded that not only was I high on pain killers, but was also drinking and posting indecent pictures of myself on the this hand-me-down website(it seriously gets passed around for different people to control).
“Mitch you don’t look too good.”
Outside, behind some horizon the sun was tucked in, the sky was turning orange. I could hear the sounds of car doors closing reminding me that my parents would soon be home; for my mom to yell and my dad to make me feel sorry; the kind of sorry you feel in your stomach from a fist or a knee that doesn’t want you painting on its wall.
“Meh.” I type. “Think of it as me being enlightened.” I start cleaning the place, the spilt paint water, I start cleaning dishes I didn’t dirty, emptying trash cans, the kind of things that would make a parent less angry for stealing their meds and running away for the weekend.
It was five thirty before the house was amputated of filth. The kitchen smelt like Windex as I made my way out the door before three things at once, stopped me. The ding sound that came from the computer speakers, bringing to my attention the music still playing, accidentals by broadcast, followed by a wave of artificial euphoria. Vicodin.
“You there?” It was Elijah’s instant message on the computer screen. “I’m going to that party they were talking about on the boards. It’s in your neighborhood. Wanna go?” right after I sent the message, the reply I got was a phone number. “Call me.” When the car garage door opened I was already out the back door, leaving a trail of wind for a split second, slightly moving a note on the shiny kitchen counter and falling on to the mopped floor.
“Shit.” I thought. I should have put it on the refrigerator as I started rolling down the drive way in my Toyota pick-up. On the radio, the face said, “spit on a stranger. When I finally got to the bottom of the hill, I took the car out of neutral, started the engine, drove passed my neighbors, through a few stop signs. The speakers were singing “I see the sunshine in your eyes.” On my way to the main streets, I passed my dad coming from the other direction on his way back home. I waved. I couldn’t head him but saw the words mouthed with his lips; something with fuck at the end. From the main streets, I got on the freeway and left town.

Elijah answered his door wearing a welder jacket and Elvis glasses with red lenses.
“Nice glasses” I told him. “Fuck yeah” He replied. “But it’s dark outside.” He was closing the door, and locking it with a key. “Oh, I don’t mind. They aren’t made to keep light out anyway.”
He was holding a miniature cooler in one hand and a sketchbook in the other hand, “I brought some beverages for the drive. I hope you don’t mind. “I told him it didn’t matter. In no time, we we’re back on the interstate five while I drove, Elijah navigated and pulled out a water bottle filled with orange juice. “Screw driver.” He said and then handed me the bottle.
The damn label was still on the bottle, giving you the impression that the company was filling them from a lake of vodka. The car in front of me slams on his brake, so I slam on mine, stopping inches away from the driver ahead.
“Would you call that a near life experience?” asks Elijah. “No,” I said. “But my buzz went away.” Traffic started moving again. “You know let’s say you hadn’t hit the brakes, and we both flew out the windshield and became scattered body parts, what would have been your last thought?” I tried to think of an answer; my train of thoughts going in reverses.
“Shit, I don’t know. Probably the word shit.” Elijah nodded with a sour expression on his face, attempting to block the alcohol burning in his stomach from his thoughts.
“That’s a little sad, don’t you think?”
We were approaching the source of our delay, the reason about a hundred tail lights lit up at the same time. While I stared out the window at the red and blue lights flashing I said, “Do I think it’s sad?” No, if it’s just because I’m not thinking about significant things in my life constantly in case my life happens to end in a car pileup. What good does it do me if I’m dead anyway?”
Elijah was waving at a woman driving next to the car. She was talking on her cell phone, blind to the gesture or maybe was ignoring him. “I don’t know, I’m not disagreeing with you. In fact, had we crashed back there, my last thought would have been about cheese burgers. Fuck, could you imagine if some how everyone screamed their last thought before death? People probably would just think I was hungry.”
On the other side of the freeway, we glanced at the cracked divider, and S.U.V. flipped on its side right up until traffic started moving again. Our speed increased from thirty miles per hour up until the arrow on the speedometer pointed to the number eighty.
“Do you know what they use to make chalk outlines of bodies on the freeway?”
“I don’t know.” I told him. “Chalk, maybe?” Elijah rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. “No, actually.” At that point, I was looking at the pavement for clues but couldn’t find any. The words and smoke came out his mouth at the same time. “Paint.”
I repeated his answer, kind of but not really surprised. “Yeah, what else would they use? I mean, think about it. These bodies, when their car crashes, they don’t just get out and lay on the ground to die. They’re asses along with the rest of them depart from their car seat out the windshield. When they hi the pavement, their bodies turn into soup.”
What he was saying made sense, but I was still skeptical. I didn’t see any paint on the road for the twelve miles I drove to the exit.
“Make a left here.” While I was turning I noticed a string of strip clubs, and liquor stores. Outside there were men with bald heads, guys with buzz cuts, walking on both sides of the street, having conversations twenty feet away from each other.
“There is a marine base nearby. This part of San Diego is like their sanctuary.”
After driving passed a few Mexican and sea food restaurants, I parked behind a holiday inn. The party was at the hotel next door. I opened the door to room 22b and was greeted by several guys and girls in their underwear. One boy was in a white shirt and boxers and a couple of girls were in night gowns. They were all soaked from head to toe. Everybody else fully dressed.
“Welcome to drunk fest.” One of the girls in a wet nightgown was either slightly swaying or slowly dancing when she welcomed me in. “I’m your host and you kind of look like my sister’s boyfriend.” I said thanks Elijah walked to a group of people that were dry and still wearing their clothes while I wandered to the kitchen. “My name is char by the way.”
Introductions began and ended, there weren’t a lot of people. One group of girls sat on the couch, more people were in a separate bed room, passed out. Everyone else was in the kitchen while char gave me a tutorial on how to use a refrigerator. “This is the freezer; we don’t really put our drinks in there. We don’t want them to FREEZE!” She emphasized the word freeze and swayed a little more. “Do you keep the ice in the freezer or the fridge?” I asked, already aware of the answer, but she walked right passed me starting a new conversation with someone else.
Maybe two or three girls weighed less than one sixty. The rest were complaining about how hot the room was. For a half hour, I sat down on the counter next to the fridge watching people coming and going. I kept drinking cheap champagne out of a paper cup until I lost track of how many I filled and emptied.
“You can’t drink that!” Char, a little les sober than before picks up an empty bottle of crooks.
“Why are you wet?” I asked.
“Excuse me?” She put the empty bottle back on the counter and looked at me threw a pair of spectacles with lenses with the density of magnifying glasses.
“Your clothes?” She looked down. While for the first time that night I started to examine her. First, I started at the knee cap, her thighs were full. From the waist down she looked normal. Most of her body was proportioned correctly including her arms and face. Char’s tits may even be considered nice, maybe a C or D cup had her stomach not almost swelled past them. It took less than a second for me to absorb this information before she looked up again.
“oh.” This was followed by a pause. “Daniel, Shawna, Lauren, and me took a bath together with our clothes on.”
Elijah had explained to me earlier that night how she was a source of inspiration for a few weeks. “I don’t remember how much money I made from the drawings inspired by her mistakes. I just know it was a lot.” I played the thought like a recording while she tried not to slur her words. “You need to buy me a new bottle now.”
When I slid off the counter, I felt a little more buzzed. “Whatever, but you have to come with me.”
On the way to the car, Elijah’s voice echoed in my head, “I mean what kind of woman sticks a cell phone in her vagina only to brag about it? She’s a human terd. Stay as far away as possible.”
I can’t blame the alcohol for being low maintenance. It’s been a while since I was alone with a girl. “You look so much like my sister’s boyfriend.”
When I opened the car door for her, she thought I was being polite. What she didn’t know is that I can only unlock the door from the passenger side. Ignorance is bliss I guess.
At the liquor store down the street from the hotel, we walked in with money and came out with a bottle of crooks and a jug of sangria. On the way back, I didn’t wait and asked char if she could fill one of the empty water bottles with wine. “You’re crazy.”
She was too drunk to fill the bottle without spilling some on the ground. “Forget it. I’ll wait until we get back.”
We didn’t realize that we passed the hotel and had to turn around. “Do you know how to they do chalk outlines of dead bodies on the freeway?” She scratched her head. “No, and I don’t really give a rat’s ass either.”
“So if we got in an accident, you wouldn’t?”
“What would be the point? Why do you need me to drive? If you’re scared of crashing just pull over I’m a little more sober than you are.” That’s the way it worked. The person who is the drunkest thinks they are always more sober than you are.
People are always asking me if I’m drunk when I’m sober. This is partly why people think im light weight when in reality my behavior is less than ordinary. “Hey! The hotels right there.”
It was a good thing the streets were empty when I pulled the emergency break and made a quick one hundred and eighty degree turn back to the inn. Char expressed very little concern for her safety. “Whoa, easy nascar driver.”
After I parked the car, we started making out. When I tried to put my hands between her legs, she stopped. “Sorry babe, I hardly know you.” Char walked back upstairs, I followed. The room was even more crowded than before. From across the room, char was pointing at me to a group of people, laughing when they thought I wasn’t looking.
The bathroom light was off when I walked in. This was my ritual whenever I went to parties. I would get drunk but never really had any fun. Instead, I always did something to embarrass some one or myself. Or at least that’s how I was supposed to feel. Looking at the bath tub, still filled with water, I knew this night be no different.
With my pants wrapped around my ankles, I sat on the edge of the tub, waiting. When I stood up, there was two big chunks of shit swirled like chocolate ice cream coming out of a machine. No one noticed me leave the restroom.
Instead of leaving right away, I waited, talking to people, drinking a little more. A half hour later, someone came out the bathroom with an announcement.
“I think someone shit in the bath tub?”
“Who did?”
“I have no clue. All I know is there’s some poo floating around.” No one laughed. That wasn’t the reaction I expected. People were appalled. A few people took pictures of it. Ten minutes later, people started to herd out the front including Elijah and I.
“Hey char, it was nice meeting you.” I told her, but was too tired and drunk to hear me.
We go in the car and drove on the interstate with the windows rolled down. It was cold outside, but the breeze felt good. I drove the speed limit, while the one or two only other cars on the road could probably not drive any faster unless they were rockets. The paint they use to outline body parts on the freeway came to mind. A few moments later, I was driving over a trail of powdered blue and cotton candy pink paint sporadically covering the far left lane; the same place where the accident had happened on the way to the party. If Elijah hadn’t passed out, I would have said he was right. For a moment, I thought that maybe I was dreaming with my eyes open.

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