Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Hammered and Off

August 29. 2010

Last night was my last night in Orlando. I’m looking out this airplane window into a future beyond work and bars and clubs and people, prophesying my new life rolling in with the clouds. The sun kissed shapes transform the sky, as each cloud simulates undulating thoughts in my loaded mind. They are ephemeral and transient, strong and uncertain and I’m not even sure if I can tell where each thought stops and ends. All I can cipher is steep anticipation for all the lies ahead.
My lips are numb and I’m incredibly thirsty. It’s probably because I drank myself silly on my last night of work… which was probably not the best idea considering I’m not entirely sure the next time I’m going to enjoy a full night’s sleep. I’m hammered drunk, still in my work clothes, and reflecting on what tidbits I can piece together from my memory of the night before. Fully equipped with the heaviest pack in the world, I stacked all the most random ass things that a backpacker would never consider to be of importance on their journey. This is because I’m not traveling to any normal backpacking destination. As a matter of fact I am traveling to the single most radical event in the United States in the drop dead middle of the desert.
To be quite honest, my departure from Orlando wasn’t exactly how I pictured it, but then again I don’t even have any recollection of what had happened anyway so maybe it’s possible I left exactly how I wanted to.
All I can remember about my last night working on Wall St:
10pm Four adorable beer pong boys bought me 3 rounds of shots
10:45pm Patron shot
10:46pm Patron shot
10:47pm Patron shot
3:15am Cleaned the bar and swept the street
** between 3:40am and 3:50am
3:58am Drove to Denny’s with Holly
5am Arrived at the airport at 5am and had to change my clothes in the car
10am Woke up on the airplane as it landed in Salt Lake City
** Somewhere around this time frame, I apparently, had also rubbed my bare naked ass all over an Orange County cop car, paying my farewell respects to the city indirectly.

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