Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 11

I knew I shouldn’ta gone anywhere that night. I was sick as a dog, head all stuffed up and ready to go to bed. Just took a big swig of Nyquil when Little Earl comes in my place ranting about Shelly and I thought, now this is a night at Smitty’s I don’t want to miss. So I hauled my sorry ass off the couch and put my boots back on. You can rest when you’re dead, right?


I figure I might as well save myself a few bucks so I toss back a couple of cold ones before we head out the door. He’s got me all amped up by now and ready for a fight. In the parking lot we run into some old guys suckin on a bottle of Jim Beam and I take a coupla hits off it while we shoot the shit, getting restless to get inside where its warm, but feeling no pain. Then we see JD, who’s supposed to be watchin the door, and that scrawny hippy dude smoking a joint and I can’t resist that either – twist my freakin’ arm man.

So we walk in and the joint is a jumpin.’ I head right for the bar for another cold one, maybe a shot of tequila, but Little Earl man he just goes right for the girl, no foreplay or nothing. Then, shit, it musta been the Nyquil I started out with because usually I can handle a lot more before it all fades to black, you know, but the rest is such a blur. I can’t remember shit after the chairs started flyin around. I know I’m in a shit ton of pain and somehow I managed to get myself home, woke up with my boots still on but in my own house, on my old couch, all the lights still on. Yeah, the lights were on but weren’t nobody at home, so they say.