drink.drunk.drink.

I went to town last night. For those not in the know, town is where the clubs are. The nightclubs.
The nightclubs I went to was The Sovereign, The Cri, Mad Cow, and Finneys.
Sovereign=Good. Not many people. Quiet.
Cri=Same as above+Cheap drinks
Mad Cow=No opinion, was in there 2 seconds
Finneys=Never going back in there
Hmm yeah. Not a big drinker, but lately I have been drinking more. Weird.

Short story #2

"JEEVES! MORE RUM!" he shouted at his butler through the intercom. It's not that he was a lazy fellow, well he once wasn't at least At 23 he was slim, athletic, and ready to take on the world in accounting, but all things change when you win the lottery.

He become a multi-millionaire over night. Anything he could ever dream of was his. All for the taking. Now at 28, he was a large slovenly man. He had no need to move, he was rich! He spet the day perousing the internet. Looking at naked woman. No real woman would touch him the way they do their partners. He knew it was all fake. He didn't care. He just wanted someone.
He sometimes wished he'd never won the money, just kept working like every other person on the planet; he didn't need to, but he still could have.

These are his regrets at 28.


In a story mood, don't judge me.

Stuck in my head

He sits at his study, thinking of what to write. He pours another half glass of whisky. It's beginning to warm from the temperature. He wished he had ice left. Each sip lands in his stomach like a big 'fuck you'. He deson't know what to write, who to write about, or for. Pointless writing for himself when he has started to see the world so bleak.

Bah, a childrens author, what was he thinking? Write one novel poem, and people label you this and that. Never mind the thousands of short storys he's written which are now nothing more then kindling.
The thoughts swirl in his head. He tries to combine them all. Finding rhymes, dreaming of pictures, but every rhyme and every picture is as bleak and dark as the next.
It no longers seems the ideas are swriling, but rather he is. He takes another sip of warm vodka. This time he practically hears plonk in his gut. It smashes his stomach. Alcohol. His last source. To drink his problems away. It won't work. It. Never. Does.


I was drinking hot tap water and this kind of, formed. Not sure what it means, maybe it just gave me the comparison to vodka. idk. I've been up 23 hours, with still more to come. I almost kept writing the story then. And I keep mispelling words. This isn't going to twitter. This is mine. If someone stumbles upon it, so be it.