Couch 4: Frank
Pros: nice view, near radiator (warm), pot, Frank
Cons: small couch, near radiator (loud)
Let me tell you a story about rum, rain, and wreckage. Last night I finally moved to a new couch and this is what happened.
It rained. God, it rained a lot. I’d had a lot of rum to drink before Scott came home from work, pissed as usual. This time he was upset because he said I drank all his rum and left my muddy boots on the counter and reset the thermostat to nice ’n’ toasty, which I guess is all true, and maybe I have overstayed my welcome, but still he was such a prick about it. He went off about what a shit I’ve been and how I just need to get over myself and sort my life out. A month has passed, he told me, and now I’m just a bum taking advantage of all our friends and making them feel sorry for me while I soak in a sea of alcohol and misery, that everyone was affected by what happened and I’m the only one still unable to move past it. This stung a little, actually, because I don’t think it’s true. I’m just not having too good a time right now is all, and the guilt is weighing heavy. I might have cried a little, so I grabbed my shit and hurried out, trying not to give a fuck.
I set out on my bike getting soaked on my way to Frank’s trying to see straight through the rain and from all the rum I drank when I wrecked my bike and busted up my suitcase pretty bad. Now it won’t totally stay shut.
But Frank was packing a bowl when I arrived, so that was pretty rad. He’s in some swank high-rise on the north side overlooking the lake and we got stoned on the fire escape watching the rain come down. He said I could stay with him a few days.
A welcomed change of pace from Scott, that asshole.