Friday night. Everyone’s at Happy Hour.
They better be my goddamn friends again
in three months. All we do together is drink
and play Smash Brothers, and no way I’m
picking up a controller with the rest of them
belching beer in my sober face. They’re
a bitch to hang around when I’m shitfaced,
can’t imagine how obnoxious they’d be now.
Fucking amateurs, still keep tequila in the freezer.
Don’t even know how to get drunk right. Why
am I hanging out with a bunch of kids anyway?
Not kids kids, but barely-legal-to-drink kids.
Better question: why the fuck am I home
by myself on a Friday night? After 27 years,
you’d think I’d land myself somewhere
better than this. Steph might still be up.
I can’t handle that tonight, though,
can’t take the just-friends-and-occasional-
drunken-fuck charade. Why she took so long
to bail is beyond me. I guess I could call
my brother, but then I’d be with an actual
kid, a sixteen year-old, and how pathetic
No, I’ll stay in tonight. Alone.
Thinking about everyone else is
such a fucking pain in the ass.