1.3 Pickling My Liver

Weeks pass. You know the deal; I work hard during the day, and I play hard at night. I usually catch a small bite at my place since it's between the clubs and the set. I've been getting a bit of recognition in the business recently, which is nice. Whatever pays the rent. I've also pretty much thrown my "sober" label out the window. There's just too much to do in this city and let's be real, being sober drags down the parties I go to. It's not a good thing, but I can stop whenever I want, so it's no big deal. I scarf the rest of this salad down and head out to a dance club a few blocks away.

After ordering a few drinks, I start dancing on the floor with this girl. Not to brag, but we're probably the best in the place. After a few hours of this dancing, we get to it in the less-used bathroom on the second floor. She asks if I want her number. I say no. She angrily exits the bathroom, and I presume the club. I make my way back downstairs.

I order more drinks and stand on the edge of the floor, lighting a cigarette. I'm too drunk to care. Ugh. I hate the way all the girls act in this town. You'd think there'd be at least one girl here who gets me. And for some goddamn reason, they all wear those fucking weird glasses! I laugh to myself. Well, not that one girl. Not that redhead. I wonder what she's up to. I smile and take a drag. I go home a few minutes after that.

One day, as I'm driving home from work, I notice something on my dash. It's a small bottle of nail polish, lodged between the dash and the windshield. Navy blue. I gnash my teeth and grip the steering wheel hard, until my knuckles gleam white. Fuck her. Fuck girls. Maybe I need to go see a shrink.

Later that night, I practically shit my pants. Lola Belle comes over to me at the club and starts flirting. With me. Whaaaaat?! She's really fucking famous! I guess word really is getting out about me. "Hey cutie," she says to me, looking at me through those signature Bridgeport glasses. "Hey yourself," I grin.  I'm sure you can imagine how riveting the rest of that conversation went. I have no idea who the fuck that guy in white is. He walks away after a few minutes, though. Probably some pap.

"I'm starved," Lola announces. I chuckle. "I'll buy you a drink and some bar food." We go in on our purchases when I start to make my move. Lola is agreeable. We stumble out the door, and after a few minutes of making out in the car, get on the road. Fuck. Drunk driving is hard. I drive for a few minutes. Suddenly Lola freaks out. "Stop the car!" I parallel park (shitty). "Come in here." She drags me into a dark building, thrusts me in a chair, and rips my clothes off.

"I like where this is going," I purr. Suddenly I hear a buzzing. Then, INTENSE PAIN. I cry out. "FUCK!" Lola shhh's me. "Go with it. This'll look so badass." She's giving me a fucking tattoo. Oh my god. Eh, whatever. She's right anyway. After an hour of pain, we go back to my place.
----

I've quit going home between work and the bar. Now I just eat dinner there too. That's messed up, huh?
----

One night, when I'm feeling particularly drunk, I make a dumb phone call. "Yooo, operator! You list apartment numbers for the Simset?....Well fuck that, I don't got the time for that." I hang up. Whadda bitch.

Disappointed, my mind starts wandering. Wasn't I supposed to meet someone here? Oh yeah, my dealer. "Hey! What gives? I'm at that little watering hole you told me to go to....Alright, well be here soon. Bye."
----
This one's kinda short, sorry :( It just is because I forgot to take a lot of pictures when he was out.