Sunday, February 22, 2015


I decided to get a haircut today. God knows I needed one and the people at the children's home can't do any worse than my mom used to do. She insisted upon cutting our hair until we graduated high school despite her deteriorating vision from a long battle with glaucoma. On my way there, there was a lot of commotion going on near the asylum and some strange man covered in a ghastly blue liquid standing on the edge of the roof. After my haircut I get the genius idea of getting a drink before class, it's not like we learn anything anyways. I take the shortcut through the alley that is strangely covered in graffiti. As I near the street I notice a homeless man huddled in a ball moaning. I dig into my purse find about a dollar in change and drop it on the ground. He shouts back  "What the hell!? Do you think I'm a fucking hobo!? Are you literally so stupid that you-" before he stops himself. Obviously he's ungrateful, and he is laying under graffiti that says "You killed her", so I figured it was best to run. 

By the time I get to the bar, I'm completely out of breath. I blame it on the cold, but some exercise probably wouldn't hurt me either. I slam down $20 on the counter and ask the bartender for as much booze as it will buy me. He gives me a funny look and asks if I'm 21. I guess the new haircut and no makeup look isn't mature enough for him. I shove my ID in his face and glance around at the empty stools around me. After downing two drinks, pausing to go to the bathroom and sloppily drinking the third and spilling about half on the counter, I pay my bill and leave. As I stumble over the curb, I realize I almost hit a small wrinkled woman without a coat. She mumbles something throws a card at my feet and proceeds to plop herself down on the bench outside O'Harleys. I go to pick up the card and almost fall over. It reads "falling apart is only for the weak."