Usually when I lay down the world ceases to exist for about 6-8 hours. Recently I’ve been having trouble sleeping and I have found out that my neighbors fucking suck. Homeboy upstairs traipses around like a damn elephant every hour and a half. Bro, is it necessary to do laps around your apartment while wearing cinder blocks as slippers at 3:15 in the morning?
Crazy neighbor at the end of the hall plays catch by himself at midnight with some sort of plastic whiffle ball type deal. Apparently he’s not very good. No, I’ve never seen it, I hear it.
Swack. Swack. Swack.
The ball rolls around the apartment bouncing off the stove Nd the dishes piled in te sink.
Once again, I figured all this out with solely the audible noises in the early hours of the morning.
Amidst Apartment 4’s game of catch he decides to flip his shit. He starts screaming in the strange voice with a southern accent. He’s telling someone to “shut their damn mouth” and “go back to their secret bullshit support system” but no one was there and I’m fairly certain no phone was involved. He can even be quoted saying “I’m no Jackie Robinson”. He most certainly isn’t, aside from the obvious, he isn’t even black.
To cap it all off right as I was starting to drift off around 5:45am, the new neighbor across the hall(a woman in her sixties) decides to blow dry what’s left of her silver hair with what I swear is wind tunnel equipment……
I am either a pushover or the best friend one can have. My buddy drops me a line saying there’s a show he wants to take this girl to near my place. He says he wants to get housed and walk there and back. The cover? He said he’d get me. I didn’t know the band and it was only a mile and half/ two miles away. Sure. Why not? What could go wrong?
The evening began at my place with whiskey sours and his child bride. I call her a child bride because she was maybe 19?
I shower and we mix a couple of drinks for the road. Stepping out of my apartment to head to Metro, where the show is, we’re met with an ideal climate for a nighttime stroll.
Walk. Drink. Walk. Drink.
Side note: The friend I am talking about in this adventure and I were looking for venue up in Baltimore and we couldn’t find the place. A vagrant overheard our dilemma and offered to show is how to get there for a drink at the show. I obliged and we set out. As we were walking he said I reminded him of the comic book character Deadpool and my friend reminded him of Davey Havok of the band AFI. So for all intents and purposes, from this point forward I shall call my friend Davey.
So Davey, Childbride, and I are about 2 blocks from the show and Davey has decimated the cocktails we brought. It was going to be one of THOSE nights.
We got to the door of Metro, among the hipper places in Annapolis; it stood 3 levels tall with the entire facade being made up of windows. We climbed up a couple flights of stairs, and pay the bouncer. I don’t do cash so Davey spotted me and paid for Childbride. I hit the bar and got him another whiskey sour. Bitch, I don’t owe you shit.
The band was some psych-a-funk-delic something or another. Not too shabby. Not my typical tunes but I will jam to whatever. There was a sweaty guy in a chicken suit moshing with me. So that was great. He stage dived off a stage that was a foot tall, jumping onto me and 3(4?) other people. Not exactly ideal for crowd surfing.
They finished up their set and I went downstairs to catch some air and a cigarette. I talk to a kid that could fit my erect penis through the holes in his ear. We sold some passerby a couple cigarettes and Earholes screamed “FUCK WHITEY!” As the guy was walking away. The guy wasn’t white.
I didn’t much feel like going back in and catching another band so I stayed outside and bromanced with some kid with x’s on his hands and a waxed handlebar mustache. That went on for about 20 minutes and some cat storms out of the bar grabs a patio chair and chucks it over his shoulder into one of the many windows that made up the front of the building. Nothing broke. Alcohol is a hell of a drug.
Standing on the sidewalk with Handlebars and a cop car speeds by going 60, easy, in a 30. I start yelling to the crowd of smokers to push me in front of the next police cruiser that was hauling ass. “I don’t feel like paying rent!”
Resuming my convo with Handlebars (we bromanced for almost an hour and I never got them digits) I heard a crash and some yelling behind me. It was Davey, Childbride, and some other patrons.
I came over with the diffusing tact I have and shepherded them away to discover Davey was getting reamed for falling down the stairs and slamming a door on Childbride’s arm. As I was herding them away I realized one of the people shouting at my friend was the drummer from the band I had seen. I made sure to stop and thank him for a good performance and told him to take care. Manners mother fuckers, get some.
It was two miles to my apartment. Davey could barely stand. I draped his arm over my should an schlepped him down our route. He bumped people of course but luckily no one was really displeased.
About half a mile in Davey can no longer stand. He has fallen, despite my best efforts, countless times. I pick him up and try to carry this drunk carcass. Not. Going. To. Happen.
I set him down and lean him against a light pole and he leans to vomit and falls face first into the asphalt. Ha. There is no way I can get him the mile or so left. Childbride was trying to hail a cab but she’s shy so I did it.
Gave the cabby the $5 I had in my wallet and he took the fare. We were in the car no more than 30 second when Davey decided to projectile vomit onto himself. Getting kicked out of the only cab I had seen on the street was not on my agenda. I was chatting with the cabby and when I saw Davey puking I would just talk really loudly to cover up the noises. Childbride found this to be hysterical and laughed the whole way there. I think Davey even knew what I was doing because he started to giggle, all slumped over, covered in throw-up.
We pulled up to my building and I’m trying to get Davey out without the driver seeing all the puke. Cue the dome light and an over the shoulder glance. He saw it. I ended up with a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of paper towels in my hands while Childbride literally dragged Davey to my building.
Dude was all sorts of fucked. Covered in bruises, puke, and scratches. He was beyond balance or standing for that matter.
Which floor do I live on? Funny you ask, it’s the fifth one. We got to get him to the elevator. I pick him up in a bear huggish way. We got in the lift and he starts sliding down me. Dead weight can’t describe what Davey has become.
His body slinked down and contorted into some sort of Kama sutra pose with his head at my crotch. I did what any rational person would do. I proceeded to hump his face.
5th floor. “Let’s go, fucker.”
Walking has been out of the question for a long time. I’m standing in my hallway, sweating profusely, holding an unconscious man in my arms.
My door can’t be more than 50 feet from the elevator. Davey’s body is totally limp and I am side stepping with him in my grasp. his body is at least vertical.
20 feet to go.
He springs to life, says “Oh, Megan” and starts trying to make out with me. Some people like to kiss men, I am not one of those people. I didn’t want to kiss this man. I gave him a smack and he went limp and started drooling and maybe licking my neck still mumbling something about Megan.
Keys in hand, Childbride popped the door open and I heave Davey onto the couch. Game over. I went above and beyond my role as friend. I head straight to kitchen whip up a solid nightcap.
Moral of the story is don’t be the lifeless corpse.
Fucking A. I’m awesome. Davey owes me an unfathomable amount of bar tabs. Fuck it, a beej wouldn’t be out of line. Like 5 blow jobs.
He will awake tomorrow in physical pain having no recollection of any of it. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him.
Alcohol is a hell of a drug.