The Drunk in my Life Besides Myself

I don’t often get to see George smoke cigarettes. I can only remember one other time when he was three sheets to the wind over at my house. He had run out of cigars and was smoking my Gold Coast Lights 100s that I was smoking at the time. I give George credit for getting me onto smoking cigars instead of those other damnable addictive things, and cigars are half the cost without all the funky additives that cigarettes have. I still crave cigarettes everyday despite smoking cigars though. That is how damned addictive the things are.

George came by the house a moment ago wanting to borrow twenty bucks and a couple of packs of cigarettes for some strange reason. I gave him two packs of little cigars instead.
I have had my fill of drinking and inebriated people for at least a few weeks until my alcoholic cycle resets itself and I forget how terrible I feel after drinking all day and night and repeat the cycle once again. I have picked up enough white poker chips* at Alcoholics Anonymous to start my own casino or poker hall. C'est la vie as they say.
“You sure you can’t help me get up twenty bucks?” George asked.

“Where is your car?” I asked dodging the subject as George had apparently walked up from the shopping center.

George’s mom’s house is a thirty minute walk away so I found that unlikely. My house is five to ten minute walk from the shopping center depending on the speed of your gait and whether or not you stop to enjoy the neighborhood scenery and the regal ambiance (sarcasm).

“It is sitting down behind the car wash and won’t crank,” George replied, looking stymied.

“What’s wrong with it?” I then asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” George said. “I’ve got a long walk home and wanted something to smoke and drink for the trip.”

George was apparently too tipsy to care today. He is usually pretty good about keeping that piece of crap ’81 Dodge Diplomat running. I then smiled thinking that George will never change as I walked inside, and then walked back out to hand George two packs of little cigars.

“I can’t help you with the alcohol, but here is something to smoke,” I said as George put the packs of cigars into his dingy pants pocket.

George then muttered something about going to find Big S and borrowing some money. I scoffed at that to myself as I chuckled. The likelihood of Big S letting George borrow money was slim to none. Big S is a greedy, miserly old bastard.

“You sure you can’t walk over to your pop’s house and borrow twenty bucks?” George asked once again, pleading.

“Sorry man, I can’t help you,” I replied. “I am broke until next month when my check is electronically deposited in my checking account.”

“Damn,” George said, red eyed and hung-over looking. “I’ll see ya later.”

George walked on down the street and disappeared over the hill as I was hooking up my car battery to a battery charger. I can’t say I wasn’t glad that George’s visit was short and uneventful. I have had my fill of drinking and inebriated people for at least a few weeks until my alcoholic cycle resets itself and I forget how terrible I feel after drinking all day and night and repeat the cycle once again. I have picked up enough white poker chips* at Alcoholics Anonymous to start my own casino or poker hall. C'est la vie as they say.

*Picking up a white poker chip at A.A. signifies your first day of sobriety after “being back out” as they call it in A.A. which means you’ve been drinking and have fallen off the wagon so to speak.