Episode 3

He’d probably have been better of smoking weed than attempting to drown himself in eighty proof alcohol. It would have had less negative side-effects and would have allowed him to him to sleep well into the morning. For some reason, the stomach just can’t handle as much as the lungs. He was just too damn upstanding for that illegal shit though; at least the felonious shit. Even so, it’s not like the depressed really need more depressants; they just need something to take the edge off so that they can face another day. In that strange sense, the things that destroy us can be the same things that keep us going.
With an audible sigh, he faces the clean-up task ahead. It’s better to get it done now, shitty as he may feel, then to let it dry into the carpet and be forced to clean it up completely sober, or have to worry about the $400 dollar rental deposit. Screw it. His mind vacillates between living and dying like some ethereal coin flip. Is this shit worth it? Is any of it worth it? Do I waste the effort, or not? Where’s Christ or the Dali Lama when you need to answer this crap? So is life, or death, for that matter. Our existence can come down to something as seemingly insignificant as our willingness to clean up puke. Yeah or nay. Do or do not.

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