The Five People I Saw Today.

It’s amazing how a high can turn into a low for no discernable reason in little to no time. There I am one day, the king of the world, and then I sit here in bed all day, no motivation to move, no goal to achieve, no reason to be. I finally get out of bed around 3, the force of hunger the only thing keeping me alive. The ravioli wasn’t good, but my mom’s reheated sauce added the only taste I needed to mechanically bite down.
I watched “Taken” a movie so preposterous it drained from the fun, a movie set-up only to indulge those with fear of the unknown. Heroes episodes on Hulu weren’t the fun they always have been, the constant starting, stopping and waiting of the internet stream a perfect metaphor. The only trips off the island that is my bed to go get more ravioli with my hand out of the pot, and then dipping it in the now-cold sauce that hadn’t moved further then the top of my microwave. I drank an entire box of Swiss Miss mix.
I didn’t have my glasses on the table where they always are, and a blurred memory points me to Humphrey’s, the bar I have been to everyday this week. A desire to smoke a cig is the only thing I can cling to, I decide to walk to Hump’s and the Shell.
It is colder then it has been in days, the wind howling through the buildings and slicing through my sweatshirt. It can’t whip through my hair because I didn’t shower today, and my Billiken’s hat holds it tight. The effects of being drunk from sometime Friday afternoon on through to this morning are somewhat hemmed by the cold, I don’t think this is what Asher Roth had in mind.
C.J., the bouncer at Humphrey’s, didn’t expect anyone to be coming in and I made it pretty deep into the bar before he asked for my I.D., he looked at it like he always does, even checking the back, despite the fact I see him more then my professors. I said hi, and realized he was the first living soul I had seen all day, with barely an hour left on February 15, 2009. The second encounter, now with the bartender, was more filled with information, but less positive. Instead of being told I was allowed to be in the building, the guy told me they didn’t have my glasses. I salvaged it by convincing him to give me an ice cold Miller Lite in exchange for three United States Dollars.
The 6’6’’ black guy was watching the all-star game I forgot was on, and when I asked him about it, he told me the west won by 40 while they were showing highlights of an insane dunk LeBron James through down while the defense got out of the way. “At least that was sick,” I said as I walked towards the desolate side room.
I got to see more highlights as I was drinking alone in a bar on a Sunday night, and then they told me my home-state boy Matt Kenseth won the Daytona 500 I forgot to watch, so that’s cool.
I made a circuit around the bar to see if I knew anyone. I didn’t.
As I walked out, I thanked the bartender, put my empty bottle on the bar and thought better of steeling myself against the impending cold, whatever. Up the hill past the Parking Garage, down the path by the Parking Garage, and then down the steps, I was within sight of the Turkish Royals, my day’s only goal on the verge of being completed.
I almost missed it, but the women standing by the pay phones said hi to the back of my right shoulder, I responded in kind, never breaking my stride.
The line was long, and I was hungry, so I opened a back of T.G.I. Friday’s sour cream and onion chips. It turned out to be a disappointing purchase, as the potato skin chips are better. Oh well, it filled a base need.
“This and a pack of Turkish Royals, please.”
Beeping noises as she scans the chips, then again after she grabs the cigs. “$5.14 Please”
“Sure, have a good night” and I turned left and hit the door, eating my chips.
The cig wasn’t as perfect as I wanted it to be after all of that effort, and I couldn’t see very well, but I guess you could call the trip a success. I cut the corner by the Samuel Couples House, so I didn’t get a chance to say hi to my favorite statue Tim. There was a guy sitting in the lobby of my building, but he didn’t want to get into the elevator, so I left him alone as I pushed 13, and chuckled a little when I saw the placard I had drawn on in sharpie last night, making another “1” next to the elevator number, so it appears to say 11.