So this is what that feels like.
“…what time is it?” he hears the munching of chips, the lights are on in the room but his eyes aren’t open. “it’s 4:17 am Monday morning” says his weekend room mate. “I don’t remember coming home” he sees his jacket on the floor next to him and pulls it over his upper body while his room mate lays a blanket over his bottom half. “thanks man.” The lights go off. He sits and tries to recollect the events of what apparently had been a good time.
“facebook..” he checks to see if he had written anything silly in his drunken stupor and fortunately he didn’t, but this is no help. “Standing next to Flying Lotus and Dj Babu” is written in his status but he never hit enter. It starts to come back “okay biked to hollywood, went to a book store, purchased my first vinyl, went back to caves and dropped shit off, and met Mariella at El Cid” this is where his memory fails him.
The plethora of booties and and somewhat memorable acquaintances are the beginnings of where his memory takes him and then trails off. “I remember getting a flask of whiskey…” he would. He starts to jog his memory of all his purchases and notices he is only paying detriment to future plans. “my weed tolerance is Michael Phelps…champion” Yesterday from 4pm on he can only remember in fragments. “Sangria flowing from carafes, flying lotus next to babu, and a girl named Kate” He realizes this is what it is to have a life again. To have free time. Knowing this he will take the next 3 months and take the time to be the person he wants to be.
