• Mixed spirits are the road to cyclonic dreams. A little of this, and a little of that…and soon you’ll be having a little of everything fighting up your throat before you can even say, “Hold my beer."

    I could hear Hawkie doing his stupid Bullwinkle laugh as I crawled up from my knees and let the coldness anchor me. Looking down, I thought my vomit looked like a smiley face, but it’s hard seeing straight when you, y'know, can’t. It’s even harder seeing straight when you don’t want to.

    Everyone around me seemed to be looking to the same future. Me? I’m stubborn by nature, and if there was one thing I was determined to do, it was to get out of the hell hole that was Visa Talon. I wish sometimes I had the will to be less stupid in my free time, but I figure the pathetic escapism serves to keep me from doing even stupider things. Like spending all the money I’d been saving up on video games and hookers. I’d totally do it, too.

    …

    I mean the video games smart a**.

    When I was done appreciating my regurgitated art on the dark asphalt, I wheeled around to stare at Hawkie, who had taken to watching a moth scrabble at the yellow light bulb behind the bar.

    Hawkie. Now there was a character. A real card. A joker at that. See, Hawkie was twice my age and had done it all. Firefighting, cocaine, Desert Storm, cocaine, medieval swordfighting, cocaine, bank robberies, cocaine…

    Oh hey, did I mention—

    What?

    …Cocaine?

    Why the hell would I say that again? I was going to say weed! Quit trying to get ahead of me!

    s**t…where was I?

    Oh. Yeah. Hawkie.

    To summarize, the guy was ******** nuts, and for some reason I hung out with him. I met him at a comic book shop, and he saved me from trading away my 70’s Marvel What If issue at a lowball price. Hawkie was a creep, but he was an honorable creep, if you could believe it. I could see the shine of his scalp through his thinning red hair in the cheap porch light as he deigned to spare me a lopsided grin.

    "Hey. You done, kid? I’m not your bodyguard." He took a drag from his cigarette and threw the glowing butt out into the parking lot.

    I shrugged and started to shuffle toward the door.

    Inside, some a*****e was playing the Smashing Pumpkins' Starla on the jukebox. I grimaced. It was nothing against the song personally but…it was so ******** long and moody. I didn’t want to hear long and moody when I just got through turning my guts inside out. Dragging my feet, I went to the bar and collapsed onto a stool, letting my face plant onto the wood. My glasses got screwed up, but I didn’t care. There was hardly anyone there, and I liked it that way. I wasn’t really too talkative when I drank.

    Another good reason to keep Hawkie around. He knew when to shut up and when to drag me home. Not that he had to do the latter much, but every once in a while.

    Only someone else didn’t get the memo.

    I felt a finger tap my hand. At first I ignored it, but the tap became a warm hand over my skin, and I let out a groan as I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry, and I couldn’t figure out why at first until I raised my head and straightened my glasses. Squinting, I wrinkled my nose.

    "Who’re you?" I mumbled.

    She was my height, with warm freckles, ruddy brown hair, brown eyes, and a nose ring. Her gaze kept searching my face, and I just scowled at her.

    What’s her problem? I thought.

    "You got a ride home, hon?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

    "Why?"

    Her voice was flat. “We’re closing."

    "Oh." She worked here? I didn’t remember seeing her before. I looked around the bar, trying to find Hawkie.

    "You looking for an older guy? Bad haircut?"

    My frown deepened. "…Yeah?"

    The girl rolled her eyes and pulled a note from her back pocket. “He told me to give you this if you looked for him."

    Stupidly, I took the note from her and read:

    Willa,
    met a MILF. couldn’t pass it up. i’ll make it up with a beer next time?
    —h

    I inhaled sharply, my mouth pinched white…

    And I hung my head with a defeated groan.

    Look I never said the guy was reliable per se.

    "We can call a taxi for you." That girl again. I looked at her, at a loss.

    Finally, the words came. "…M’broke."

    She sighed roughly. “Well can you walk?”

    Mutely, I shook my head. I lived on the edge of Visa Talon, just off the highway. A real prize piece of real estate, there. I can assure you.

    My answer seemed to displease my interrogator, because she turned and shouted, “Phil, can you handle this!? I’m going to be late!"

    "No!" Was the shout from the back office.

    The girl rolled her head back and groaned loudly. All I could do was sit upright. It was herculean feat for me at this point.

    She glared at me. “********. Fine. Where do you live? I’ll take you."

    Words. Was this b***h serious? And not only did she want me to use words, she wanted me to give her directions.

    Modern technology to the rescue! I pulled out my phone and tapped the navigation app. Shoved it to her mutely.

    "Top ‘un," I mumbled. She stared at my phone blankly, and I put my head back down. Sitting upright was exhausting…and a weensy bit nauseating. I closed my eyes and sighed. If I could just…fall…asle—

    “HEY!"

    I yelped as this ginger-witch pulled me off my stool and dragged me after her. Who was this? She-Hulk?

    "You had better stay conscious, girl. I am not carrying you all the way to the car!"

    She didn’t have to worry. After a stunt like that, I was half afraid she’d Falcon Punch her way through my gut.

    …Which may or may not be a mild improvement.