Feelin’ Fine

Glancing furtively at my watch for the tenth time in an hour, I knew that if I hung around for another thirty minutes and let the clock go past midnight I’d be at it till sunup, if not much later. A new bindle was tossed on the glass, even though there was a small portion still remaining in the first. A newly met companion began chopping at the powder with methodical, almost technical precision. Dr. Loud’s girl nodded off on the couch. She wanted out too. My first move was snagging the almost empty bindle. I’d need something to revive me when I got home.

“I’m gonna take this little bit and get out of here,” I announced to the group.
“Ahh, c’mon,” Dr. Loud exclaimed.
“Gotta do it. Things to work on tomorrow. You know how it is.”
“And you know I’ve gotta give you a hard time about it, too. We each have our role to play in this dialogue.”

I smiled, then said my goodbyes. It had been a good night: a cold martini at Waterbar, Thai food on Howard Street, an only twenty minute wait for the man before a short but sweet session at an apartment I had never been to before. Good people, good food, good fun: but the jig was up. It was Tuesday, after all.

Upon getting home the cat greeted me sleepily. I finished my little bit and downed a couple of Budweiser tall boys. It kept me up till 3:30 listening to Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks and some other selections, which suited the cat fine. She spent most of the night on the porch pawing at an inchworm that had somehow landed there during the rain. When I went to bed I was prepared for the worst in the morning.

But somehow, I woke up at 7:15 and all was well. Huh, I thought. This can’t last. But here it is 11:45 and I’m rolling through the day. A rare reprieve from the toll taker; I think I’ll go to lunch now.