Big Ernie concentrated on a small glass of whiskey in front of him. He
lifted the glass to his lips. The liquor passed over numb lips without
its normal sting. Beyond the point of unconcious movement, he tipped his
head back and slowly, purposefully, gargled the poison, then swallowed.
The lights, earlier hazy and dim, became sharp pinpricks of light,
injuring his eyes, performing the wild dance of inebriation.
Big Ernie tried to wave at the bartender, then tried knocking on the bar
to get his attention. He was trying to be slick, but only succeeded in
nearly falling on his face. The bartender came over... "Ugh Ugh, no more
for you fella', you look like you've had plenty."
Big Ernie slurred his response to a rumbling arrckagh sound. He then
shook what he could off, gave the bartender his requisite cussing, and
hobbled toward the door.
Once outside the door, Big Ernie slumped into a ragged pile below the
blindingly bright neon sign flashing . He felt
his stomach churning... definitely enough... too much for the night. He
leant over and let go of all that he was holding in. "Damn..." he
thought, "Gone and fucked up my coat again... gonna hafta' wash it in the
morning." He fell over on his side and soon was fast asleep.
Big Ernie woke up about a couple of hours after sunup to the "Lucky
Eight"s proprietor tossing a bucketful of water on him... "Get outta' here
ya' damned bumb!"
Big Ernie shook himself off... "Damn it's cold... and that fucker had to
go and douse my ass... I hate rude bartenders..."
He walked over a bit, out of view of the window and stood there, holding
up the wall. He looked up, and who should he see but Ole Jeb his drinkin'
buddy walking towards him!
"Ernie looks like you got "Lucky" before me. Damn, you look how I feel."
Jeb said... slightly too cheerfully for Ernie. He thought, "How you
feel... you sound like you got up on the RIGHT side of somebody's
bed!"