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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.

Life is rhythm and rhythm is everything!


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

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