#or does he need his sugar in a tall piss-fueling iced coffee?

[citrine-elephant]

my headcanon for leon being a sugar fiend probably stems from my fear of a sugary american diet-

that boy needs happiness in his life in the form of strawberry milkshakes and iced coffees and sugar cookies and-

[burjosaltnburn]

HiHOAndTheBrokenFeelings

#HiHOAndTheBrokenFeelings

J.D.::

||My eyes were glued to Sadie’s tight round ass when she walked out the door. “God bless Levi Strauss.” I called after her.|| Don’t get me any of the rank-ass latte shit neither, woman! ||She’d lost the very mature round of rock, paper, scissors we’d done to see who was going to get food and coffee. Apparently Folgers wasn’t up to par with the caffeine snob’s tastes. Running my eyes over the scarred top of the coffee table I saw the open pack of gum and I grumbled a lengthy string of explicatives that ended with “….she took the last piece of gum….fuck!” We’d had this discussion, don’t leave shit all over the kitchen counters and leave my goddam gum alone. I muttered a few more choice words while shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers before heading to the little shop on the corner.||

Sadie::

Got it, one skank ass cappuccino! ::I pulled the door shut behind me cursing under my breath as I made my way to my car, I was beginning to realize why J.D.  worked alone. He was like a goddamn child in so many ways like right now, we needed to play a round of fucking rock, paper, scissors to see who was going out. Needless to say if I didn’t leave that tiny apartment he was going to end up with a few bruises or worse.:: What a complete asshat, seriously? We need to play games to get anything done. I feel more like his mother than partner. Do the dishes, babe, I'll get them next time. Mind doing my laundry with yours? How about grabbing a few more towels on your way back from the gym?  ��::The more I talk the whiter my knuckles turned as I gripped the wheel::

J.D.::

||The small Mom and Pop place never seemed too busy and today was no exception. Mr. and Mrs. Sanders were a sweet couple who’d lost their only son to a car accident when he was in college. Their daughter was a different kind of lost; the kind that puts a needle in a vein. Both were as devastating as they sound. Since I’d taken a place nearby Doris and Howard had seen it as a responsibility to make sure that I was eating well and to  always ask if I’ve found a “good woman”. It was sweet and they seemed so earnest that I couldn’t refuse the short chat. I grabbed 8 packs of gum and was headed back to get a carton of milk when I bumped into a chick. Blonde hair, nice eyes and mmm….tits that looked good enough to eat. Chuckling as she stammered an apology.|| It’s okay, darlin’. My bad what can I do to make it up to you?

Sadie::

::I waited in the car a while waiting as I calmed down enough to not rip off anyone else's head, it seemed unfair to rude to another because J.D. pissed me off. I blew out one more breath I grabbed my wallet and headed inside the local Starbucks, just the smell made me smile. The scent mixed with the decor and the best part….it was quiet, no loud tv or some man baby complaining about damn gum. What was his deal lately? There were moments when we were good, completely in sync, of course they were usually on hunts. After was the same. Even a few days after the hunt but the in between, they got nasty.

I shook my head and brushed past a few patrons on their way out, smiling at the lady behind the counter. :: Can I get two Venti, iced nonfat white chocolate mochas and…::I groaned out a breath, eyes searching the menu for something J.D. would like. Maybe if I got it right he’d simmer down some:: and a Venti black. Also whatever muffins you have left please. ::I smiled as she chuckled seeming to know I was trying to fix something with that order or maybe it was the muffins:: Shit...sorry...can you add like a ton of sugar to that bag and maybe a small creamer? Or tall? It’s been a long day. ::She chuckled along mumbling about totally understanding as I paid::

J.D.

||The smile that crossed this chicks lips, shit, I’ve been eye fucked before but she was doing something else and I was so blue balled by now that I could pop off like a virgin kid jacking off the first time.|| Why don’t you come back to my place, I’m sure we can figure somethin’ out. ||Walking up to the register, I set the gum down with the milk long since forgotten. Mrs. Sanders made a disdainful sound when she saw who was next to me. I didn’t think anything of it as the blood that normally fueled the upper brain was currently down South. Taking the small paper bag after I paid, I hooked my arm around the waist of the chick who’s name I hadn’t bothered to get. The wall back was fast and I’m not sure that the door was fully shut before she pounced. I dropped back on the worn couch partly because, why not and partly due to tripping because my jeans were around my ankles. Rolling my head back, I groaned loudly. This blondie didn’t waste a second, her mouth was on my dick and my fingers were treading through the flaxen colored locks at the top of her head.||

Sadie::

::I walked back to my car balancing everything as I unlocked the drivers door and slid into the seat, the muffins landed in the passenger seat while the drink were placed in holders. I was somewhat calmer now as I backed out and headed towards J.D. apartment, but there were more than a few things were needed to get clear when I arrived. First off, I was in no way his fucking maid or his goddamn mother, so the laundry and cleaning shit was coming to a fill stop. He was going to become a full functioning adult who took care of his own damn self, we also had a fully functioning kitchen so there was gonna be no more of this corner store shit. I could shop and make meals for us both, that was something I could do.

I pulled up beside J.D.’s jeep gathering the coffee and goodies, fumbling with the door before bumping it shut with my ass. My next struggle was the door, of course two hands full of coffee made it difficult to turn the knob so I gave it a kick, then another and another. :: Seriously J.D. What the fuck are you doing?

::I growled quietly to myself, doing some sort of balancing act miracle to open the door. I really wish I hadn't, I stood there in the doorway watching some blonde face deep in J.D.’s lap slobbering like some St. Bernard, while he used his grip of her dyed blonde hair to guide her perfectly. I didn't know what to do honestly. I didn't know if I was hurt or mad or simply indifferent? I walked in resting his drink on the coffee table beside his junk food. Glaring something awfully as I caught his eye:: When you're finished with this blonde whoreachinno, we need to talk. ::All that talk a out not being mad was a lie, I was fucking fuming::

J.D. ::

||Groaning loud, I didn’t even hear Sadie come in. The blonde that I’d picked up was throat deep on my dick and playing with my balls. Opening my eyes when I caught the scent of Sadie’s perfume, it was a subtle combination of shampoo, body wash and her. The look in her eyes…...yeah this was gonna end quick. A few more bobs of blondie’s head I used my grip to hold her head still as I came. If she hadn’t seemed easy before, the way that she was lapping and sucking for every last drop now screamed it. This bimbo was the kinda chick that would never leave the trailer park she grew up in. She sat back with a satisfied smirk. “I don’t think your girlfriend is happy.” Grinding my teeth I stood up.|| Thanks, you can go now. ||The look on her face was almost comical, she sputtered a few times before storming out, the door slamming in her wake. Yanking my boxers and jeans up.|| Thanks for the coffee. ||Dropping back on the sofa.||

Sadie :: I...I don't even know what the fuck to yell at you first for? Or if I even have the right to yell at you for it. ::I just left my coffee where it was and dropped my ass on the table across from you:: what the fuck was that? Seriously? ::I ran my hands through my hair and tugged it up into a messy bun, hating that I was showing way more emotion than I ever wanted to. Sure I had feelings for J.D., but I...fuck.:: I don’t even know what the fuck I'm saying here. It's your place, bring all the blonde whores you want into it, just maybe shoot me a text next time?

I'm gonna make something to eat, do you want anything? ::I stood up and turned turned to walk away, I was too tired and too angry to have the be a grown ass man and do your own shit talk. All I could smell as cheap ass Britney Spears special perfume::

J.D. ::

||Ya know in cartoons when the “Magoo” of the group does that rapid blinky blink shit, yeah. That’s me right now. My dear mama used to say “Mijo, you are cabeza gruesa. You don’t see past your own nose.” I’ve been called thick headed all my life, I compartmentalize my emotions but that means that I miss others at times as well. It took me a minute to process all of what happened. I followed you into the kitchen after a minute.|| Want some help? ||A little voice in my head was blaring that I needed to apologize.|| I’m sorry, Sadie. That was a dick move.

Sadie

::I was shocked when he followed me into the kitchen, then the apology happened and I nearly cut my finger clean off as I looked over his way:: It kinda was, but like I said you don't have to change for me J.D, just maybe leave a sock on the door or text me? ::I flashed the fakest smile I could muster, then dropped my eyes back to the bacon:: This is your place I’m just a visitor, if it's easier I can go back to a motel? I don't mind. We’ve been at each other throats In between cases constantly…::I sighed, scooping the bacon into pan before stepping around you to the freezer::

I had planned to come yell at you when I got home, about stupid laundry and stupid bullshit and then I saw you with her….I just. ::I couldn't do anything but laugh at this point:: I really need to shut up at this point and maybe get a drink. I don't do feelings. At all

J.D. ::

||Dropping my lids closed, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck! Jesus, I need to come with a warning label. “Danger…..asshole present!” Turning, I caught your arm before you could snag a bottle from there.|| Stop, the motel’s a no go. The cockroaches there are the size of small Volkswagen. Sit. ||It wasn’t a request but I wasn’t going to force you either. You wore a defiant look as you glared back at me.|| Please, sit.

Sadie ::

Fine. No motel. ::I flinched a little when he asked me to sit, this meant talking and talking led to more fucking sharing feeling shit. Christ. I was taking the bottle with me.:: Since you added please I will sit. I am also however taking this ::I raised the bottle:: with me and I want no comment ::I walked toward the table taking the seat across from you:: Now what?

J.D.

||With a subtle shift of my chin I cracked my jaw, it gave me an extra second to think.|| I’m a dick. That was a dick move and if I thought with more than my dick it wouldn’t have happened. ||My hand shot up to cut off the comment I could see forming on your lips.|| It’s been a long ass time since I’ve worked with someone else, let alone lived with someone. Shit, since my Dad died I’ve been on the road and that’s a shit fucking excuse for pulling what I have been. From now on how about we split shit. Chores. Fuck…. ||Great now the awkward was setting in; this is why I stuck to fuck ‘em an leave ‘em. I...this….grumbling an explicative under my breath as I raked my hand through my hair.|| So, yeah…. ||Dropping into the chair opposite you, I snagged the bottle and drank deeply.||

Sadie: ::Great. Now I was feeling guilty for yelling and pitching a fucking fit over chores and shit not being done. His fucking dad died? Thanks dad for that heads up. I turned to face you, taking the bottle just as you pulled it away from your mouth and held up one finger while I took a long sip.:: Yes, You are a dick. How would it have looked if you came in and some dude was fucking me on your couch when you walked in? ::I groaned louder:: Ignore that. I haven't exactly been the best person either to live with either, I'm used to living with dad or crashing in hotels. Living with another person in their place is foreign...I feel like I need to keep things clean, as a thank you.  Plus it just hurt to walk in and see that, I just…::I paused shaking my head:: I just ...we need more to drink.

J.D.:

||So it was possible for the awkward to get worse.|| ¡Jesús cogiendo a Cristo! ||There wasn’t enough booze on earth to ease this shit show and I was trying to keep my mind off what I’d have done if the tables had been flipped around. Fuck, the thought of you under me as I stretched your tight…. I needed a cold fucking shower.|| Breakfast, yeah, we need that. ||Bolting up, I hoped you didn’t notice the raging hard on I was sporting as I bee lined for the fridge across the room.||

Sadie::

Breakfast? ::Fuck. I laughed softly as he darted from the table so fast you'd think his ass was on fire, already rising to my feet before I spoke again:: Everything alright in there, J.D? You want some help? Otherwise I may go hop in the shower. ::I grinned mostly because I swore I saw his cock salute every inch as he took off toward the kitchen. Fuck.::

J.D.

||Growling my response because I was now vividly picturing her naked and wet and….fuck me.|| Fine, I’m….everything is fine. Fried eggs, sausage and toast if the bread isn’t moldy, that good?

Sadie:

::I sighed softly, shaking my head whatever this shit was between us needed to be sorted and the only way I knew how was to face it was head on. Sexual tension was simple to fix. We didn't have feeling for each other it was the rush of the hunt, the lust and pure adrenaline that took hold of each of us. That was simply all this was.:: J.D.? ::I walked back into the kitchen not saying another word, reaching around him to turn the burners off and slip in front of him while biting down into my bottom lip:: I… there is only one way we are going to figure this...fuck it. ::I took his face in my hands and brought his face to mine, gently biting his lip before teasing my tongue between his lips. Groaning softly just as my hands slid up into his short hair and tugged every so gently at first. “I’m doing this simply to get the tension out of the way” I thought to myself before another groan burst free::

J.D.:

||I’ve never been the chivalrous type, if a broad throws herself at me I’m down so long as she’s legal and conscious. Even a jackass like me has standards and morals not to mention that prison would be a fucking bitch. An amused look formed at the hesitation in your voice only to die when you attacked my face and tried to swallow me from the inside out. So that’s what I’ve heard chicks bitch about when a dude tried to shove their tongue down the chick’s throat. Stepping back, I could feel the confused look that formed.|| Woah, whiplash much? You… ||Shit, I’d never been on this side of the convo and fuck if I knew what to say.||

Sadie:

::I didn’t know what to do when J.D pulled away, I couldn’t even lift my eyes to his too afraid to show the complete shame that filled them. No it wasn’t shame, it was something I couldn’t even put into words. I just...fuck. I bit down hard enough into my bottom lip to blood before I spoke.:: I’m sorry, J.D. I..::I shook my head, pulling away a little further before lifting my eyes to yours:: that was total whiplash. I’m sorry. ::I could only stare, hoping that I didn’t just fuck up our hunting partnership but I was pretty sure that may have happened::  If “you should go” was your next sentence, I’m already grabbing my things.

J.D.::

||I started to chuckle, I would bet and win that Sadie was gonna have my balls for it but I Couldn’t help it.|| Damn, one of us needs booze for the talking we need. We both need it. Park your ass, woman. ||With a brow cocked, I made sure that her ass had hit seat before going for 2 bottles and thrusting one in her direction.|| Talk.

Sadie::

::How my ass found that seat was beyond me, it must have happened in shock of the words that left his mouth. Talk? The fuck. We do that and we end up yelling, that’s what lead us to the shit that happened two seconds ago. I groaned reaching for the bottle, the lid already gone before I had it at my aching lips. Each sip longer that the first. Honestly I wouldn’t have stopped if I hadn’t heard J.D. clear his throat and set the bottle down:: What do you even want me to say, J.D? That you having the blonde hob gobbling on your cock ::My head tilted every so slightly:: may have bothered me a little more than I cared to admit? ::I sat up a little to straight shocked to fuck that even left my mouth.::

J.D.::

||The rapid fire Spanish that flew out of my mouth  was almost too fast for me to understand and I was saying the shit. Holding up a finger before answering, I picked up my bottle and chugged like my life depended on it. It just might. Settling the lighter glass container on the scarred tabletop.|| And the attempt at tonsil hockey was supposed to clue me in? Dios! Woman, I...shit. ||One glance to Sadie’s face was enough to know that I was rapidly fucking up.|| Here goes nothin’. ||FUUUCK, that was out loud.|| Sadie, it’s been a long fuckin’ time for me to have anyone in my life. ||With each word I was picturing my man card slide further and further away.|| Chicks are a one and done. I don’t…. ||My hand shot up to cut off the protest I knew was coming.|| want that with you, you deserve better. ||And at that moment I knew it was possible to sound like a dick and a pussy at the same fucking time.|| Fuck! I want ||Raking my hands through my hair.|| more with you. You’re better than that bitch that was here earlier.

Sadie::

::The longer I sat there watching him struggling the greater the urge was to run, dart for that damn door and pretend I hadn’t come home at all. That was until the conversation took a different turn and my mouth opened instantly to comment but yours was already holding a palm to silence it. Of course I grinned. Dammit. But...it faltered seconds later when the rest of your words finally sunk in. My fingers shook a little as they wrapped around the bottle, slowly I lifted it to my lips:: Did you just say...you wanted more? ::I drank a little more just incase then scooted my chair in closer, letting out a breath slowly:: How do you even know I deserve better, J.D.? ...Are you even sure? I mean there is a part of me that is screaming out to just let my fingers do as they wish but what if I ruin everything by doing so? ::I groaned out so loudly:: I hate sounding this girly, J.D. Absolutely hate it. ::Laughing I moved in till the edge of my chair was close enough so I could rest my forehead to your shoulder::

[ecotone99]

[HM] The Ramblings of an Inept Alcoholic

I was always destined to be an alcoholic. My father drank, his brothers drank, and their father too: and when he lost the ability to swallow, he drank through an IV. He was a good drinker.

I was never sure if my mother was an alcoholic. She was the sort who just slumped in her chair and watched the telly. But she did that when she was sobre, if she ever was sobre, for all I knew she was perpetually inebriated: a far better position to be than in a perpetual state of level. I hesitate to contemplate such a thing. I do not think my father would have married her if such was the case. On second thought he most probably would have. From the lack of cohesion they share, it is reasonable to suppose that the wedding happened quite by accident, and that the whole exchange had been a mishap, that some other woman had been designated as my fathers wife, and that through a haze of drunk delirium, they had much to the misfortune of all, ended up together. To this day I believe that my father won her, or the woman she had replaced, in some drinking game.

My father is quite a drinker. Whether there is pride in my voice when I say this is up to further analysis. Pride is a thing that I have been taught to value only when it is there; and given that I lived my first, however many years, without it, I have quite forgotten its consistency. I recognize it in others, quite often: it is rather belittling. He always was a good drinker. Born to it. From the age of three he had learnt to swim, finding himself in vats of wine. First flask aged four, preferred it to my grandmothers tits: he says that it was less concentrated, less fiery down the gullet.

He was the sort of drinker, whose stories needed no exageration. This isn’t to say that there was no exaggeration, that were the case people’ld think him a lightweight. You have to be tall you see: every man, woman, child knows that your tales must be at minimum twice magnified: it shows discipline. See when he told of winning a town wide drinking contest, there was no lie told. So what does he do? He fabricates the elephant; his main contestant. A large one too. As he’d tell it: big as any building, and bigger still, greater than any tree of the forest, king of all elephants, it’s trunk larger than his wife: which was a trying task for any elephant: and involved a certain lack of proportion, but I garnered that my father’s knowledge of elephants stopped at its ability to drink.

My father was always supportive of me. I resented him for it. He would nod at me: a greeting that said “How do you do? Are you well?” He’d crack open a beer for me once or twice, perhaps by accident, but deeds over words as they say. And I hated him for it. His father beat him. His grandfather beat his father. And I was left, shame of the family, alone and unbeaten.

I suppose with the retrospect a clear mind can provide, that the blame lay on me. That I chose not to suck from my mother’s tit, that I chose not to earn my father’s belt. Born without nerves, into a world no longer tumultuous, into an era with nothing to protest. No oppressor, no pressure, no point to prove. I was given everything, and for that I received nothing.

Eight, the age at which I first tried drink. Brown, and smelling of disease. Pinched my nose and poured a small dosage down the back of my throat. I noticed two things, that it tasted as it smelled, and that I was about to die. I had taken far too large a dose, and there were no ice cubes to dilute it; and my throat was on fire, and I was going to asphyxiate. When I threw it up, my throat was burnt twice. Caught, red faced, so to speak, my father laughed. It was cheap. Neither his smile nor his eyes held disappointment, and I hated him for it. I didn’t touch the stuff again, until the age of twelve.

Smoking started, age ten. Even at that age I knew sobriety to be shameful. And I was teased at every interval by my uncles and their friends. The same ever repeating lines, a result of some alcohol induced brain damage, perhaps early onset dementia. I later strived to replicate such things. I never liked to smoke: it was an expense, it smelled bad, and I knew it to cause ulcerations of the stomach. But it hid the lack of alcohol on my breath, and that in itself was enough.

There were no kids my age, and by that I mean that there were two. One, a product of incest: so I was told, and so I believed; and had certain difficulties, but it may well have been foetal alcohol syndrome: and so I took a disliking to him. The other was female and fat, and that’s all I ever knew of her: Pregnant Penny her nickname. Our teacher, a television and the front cover of a graffitied textbook. Behind the desk and in a state of mellow high, a convicted sex offender. A fact, and the only words he ever spoke to us. I suppose that we were a disappointment. And in later years, when pubescent Penny made her attempt at seduction, she was returned to her seat with the raise of two eyebrows.

At twelve I discovered the older kids. And in return for cigarettes, I was allowed to remain, and to laugh at their jokes, which were implied to be humoristic. Their class was large, with five, and so I went unnoticed. Their teacher, a divorcee, slumped lifeless and dead. And through them I learnt much of the world. And I first tried beer, a bitter brown, resemblant of piss. It went down easy, but went up just as easy. There was neither disappointment nor disdain in their eyes. To support them, and to support myself, I found a job.

Too few people read for a paper route. The pub, a family business. The coffee shop, distasteful of my manners. And the church did not pay. It was in the rundown library that I found employment. The pay was poor, but the work paltry. A one person job, stretched to two, as to not stretch one's legs. The owner much resembled her cat, slumped at the checkout, her eyes beady, whiskers not so much as a twitch. The cat of course, was stuffed. I stacked, and stood, such that nothing was stolen. On occasion, my advice was sought, and with no experience of such things, the recognition of my opinion that is, I would simply recommend the most nuanced titles. Whether they were in search of classical literature, a light read, or a comic, a short walk to the pornographic section would ensure returning customers. From this too, I learnt much of the world. As with tobacco, you grow accustomed to the aroma. And when a man with round glasses, or a woman with a wrapped shawl, crossed our entrance, we would be shutting for lunch; and when they returned an hour later, we would be shutting for the day. On a Wednesday afternoon, a couple of years later, I would go in to find her dead at her desk. A coronary apparently. Two hours it took to notice, and only then from a build up in flatulence.

It was that same year in which my father caught me skipping class. At the park sharing a pack, brown paper bottle in hand, hearing of the excavation of a second cousin from Wisconsin in Canada. And out of a bush, a prickled bush, with thorns like knives, he emerged: distinguished in dishelvery. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust, several more for surroundings, several more still to observe my presence, and several more that I was his son. Faint and faded smile, and he was gone. The last time that I hung with the older kids.

Sixteen and faced with a decision, uncertain of expectations, I buckled under the pressure and remained in education. Fueled by an alcoholic bulimia, I sought professional aid. And through the writings of Hemingway and S. Thompson, found a certain peace. Only for it to be blown away with the setting sun. Life polarized to the neon saturates and the drab muddy monochrome. Like any opiate, addiction was to happen in several well defined stages. And in recovery there were recurring thoughts of ending it: myself and the pain that came with unrequiting aspirations. All of this and more, quickly forgot in encountering Becky. A sightly slap to the face, overshadowed by its all too physical manifestation. She was the kind of abuse I had yearned for. Young love I supposed. All things come to an end, this too I supposed, witnessing her take a long and shafted suppository, in the school parking lot. Aged eighteen school ended, an unceremonious affair. On Monday it was there, and Tuesday it wasn’t. No one seemed to notice, no one cared. An ashen debris, with arson suspected. And I left for the city.

I became a writer, for they knew how to drink, to smoke, to revel in the ravellings of their own ineptitude. And I did just that, though drinking limited. Insomnia came and went, its passing a side effect of the caffeine and sedatives. I became a writer and did not write: my take on modern literature. My time occupying itself with music and movies, and I learnt that taste was subjective, pubs and clubs and bathroom stalls, with women most often whiskeyed. And then there came a time, when my card was declined, and there became need for a real occupation. And so, two weeks into the life of a writer, I found myself an accountant, with expectations, responsibilities, a thin black tie and a station of free coffee. The money was good, and I became a whore to the constitutional stability. It was only as I mused over the monthly and annual gym membership rates, that my subliminal sufferings became sentient.

The doctors offered sanctuary. A place to list my concerns: that I was twenty and recycling, that I listened to pop music, that this winter I was to ski in Aspen, and that I ate fair-trade, free-range, organic. And he listened, eyes sagged, and asked what I wanted. I responded ‘to drink, to be depressed, to have direction’. And I was given a prescription of sugar pills, and told to get married. A liver transplant, simply would not have been enough.

It was while in pursuit of a wife, that my mother passed. Mistook the highway for the couch. No funeral, no coffin, no cremation, a hole in a field. And sat atop her, I wandered whether pissing or weeping was more appropriate. I supposed it unprecedented. And in any case, my bladder was barren, and there were no onions at hand.

My uncles at forty, were put in a home. Their minds bent and broken, unable to recall which twin they were, unable to finish their own sentences. All culminating in an altercation, in which one brother mistook the other for a mirror, eliciting two broken noses, and enough blood for several large scale transfusions.

We had neither the money nor the sentiment to pay. Instead, an exchange of prisoners. We took two men, ages unknown, providing them a bench in a park, a wholemeal loaf and the company of half fledged pigeons: the neighbouring ducks being an indecent bunch. A homeless shelter stood not half a mile away. A better life.

My uncles were left dry but miniatures: a sip a day. In a purgatory, self-made and self-deserved. Anticipating response, our contact numbers were left in sharpie, stamped upon their wrists. In hindsight, a tattoo might have lasted longer. This was the last we saw of our uncles.

My father's time would come decades later. He clung to life as a tick, yet to drink his fill. I would visit sporadically, mainly for demotivation; a reminder of wasted potential. At a certain point, he was moved, with great force, out of his residency. Henceforth his habitation of the local bar, became in perpetuity. Had a squatter maintained his rights, the pub would be under new management. But a squatter had no rights, my father neither, and he found himself a gravitational force for tourists, who would gawp in reticent inertia. During one such display of excessive drinking, he self-ignited, gaining for himself a sizeable applause. I thought it in poor taste, combustion being the leading cause of climate change and all.

His death hit national news, with a civil lawsuit being filed against the liquor distributor. International news came next, and through which I garnered an appearance on a talk show. The whole run-up being rather insidious, as I prepared to defile my father’s name. A publicist prepped me on dress and on what could be said: which was very little, and was most ninety percent made up by a would-be screenplay writer, assistant of hers. A publicist working for a group of lawyers, whose representation I never solicited, in a trial I never sought, to which end I struggled to discern; but the amenities were above par, and for that I went along supposing it a potential anecdote.

His name... I misremember, but was American and smooth, like coffee. His temperament too: coffee or cocaine, perhaps the two. And his laugh almost natural, and his hair shone as a Sub-Saharan sun, and was moulded in such a way that I was reminded of Marie Antoinette. My spiel was made less dry, by a tangential discussion on the legalisation of cannabis. My view being, it was detrimental to the youths of tomorrow: fewer laws to violate. They thought it British sarcasm, I thought them sheep to the hypocrisy of liberalisation.

I went from being an accountant to having an accountant, and an attempt at being sophisticated and civil. With wines red, not rough, conversations loaded in undertone, and orchestras and operas and an all female rendition of Othello. But sociability did not stick, it bore far too much resemblance to emphatic boredom. So I left it all behind.

And that was my life, at least that which was worth reading about, and which was not too explicit. That most moments were in relation to another, is either the defining characteristic of the human condition, or evidence of my position as a bystander to my own undefined life.

___________End___________

Authors comments/ what I think of it: 1) The beginning sucks, the first few paragraphs need work. 2) The structure is a little simplistic and could be improved. 3) There are a couple of sentences that feel out of place i.e. they are too poetic 4) There are some sentences that dont flow well together. I.e. it feels abrupt 5) The end is as abrupt as an end can be, and it seems to confuse people. 'that most moments were in relation to another': another means 'another person' instead of 'another moment'. Don't know how obvious that is. But adding person would ruin the flow of the sentence.

Wouldn't mind other opinions? This is the first thing I've written that I thought was (despite shortcomings). Is it actually good?

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