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How many times have I gone through this little ritual?
20… 30 times?
It has become what my life is about, what I work all week for.
It’s always the same… get a haircut, come home, shower, put on ‘the suit’ bright button down shirt, tie, back out onto the streets for a quick tour around the city for a last look, and then down to liquor store, off license, bottle-o or whatever they call it in whatever town I’m in.
A bottle of scotch, vodka, gin, a few beers & a packet of nuts, the usual comment from the shopkeeper, “ you havin’ a party… or what?
My reply?
“I think…or what”.
I always think that will be my last earthly joke, and then home to the kitchen to prepare my last meal, which is almost always chicken.
I quite like chicken.
I always think that it would be a hoot if while preparing for my death I inadvertently choked on a chicken bone, I get a laugh thinking about the conversations over my lifeless body about the curious scene I’ve set, an impeccably dressed man obviously prepared for a party that has choked on a chicken bone while waiting to go out for a wild night… I wonder if the CSI team would put together that I was planning to do myself in?
Then after the dishes have been cleared and washed I sit down with a clean glass and do what the world has been calling for…
I start with vodka cause it always gives me the strength I need to carry on, then if I somehow make it through a quart of the stuff a couple of beers and a few nuts and on to the gin & tonics another beer and a few more nuts and then everything starts to get a bit hazy… I’ll pass out for a while and when I wake I reach for the bottle of scotch, no glass now I drink it straight from the bottle.
At sometime during that bottle I start to sob, and then cry but I keep going.
Then my body starts to understand what it is I’m trying to do it tries to stop me it makes me sick over and over I laugh at the absurdity of it all as I try to keep the sick off my suit and that’s usually where I wake in the morning, on the floor of the bathroom, dizzy, sick, and remorsefully… alive.
This is life.


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Life is rhythm and rhythm is everything!
-Monk-



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The following comments are for "Time To Put On My Die In Suit"
by monkpeabody





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