James blinked. His eyelids felt like cinderblocks, but he managed to force them wide. Sunlight scored his eyes, and he quickly closed them, covering his face with his hands.
God does my head hurt. James slowly opened and closed his eyes, adjusting them to the harsh sunlight. It was hot. His shirt was already moist and clung to his skin. A cough racked his chest, and he soon found himself hurling up whatever he had eaten last night. James looked around, surveying the alley he had woken up in. It was a narrow one, cracked pavement separating two gray buildings. There was a dented trash barrel a few yards from him, so he struggled his way towards it. He sifted through the garbage—some rotten Chinese food, a few apple cores, and a pile of yesterday’s newspapers—before he found what he was looking for.
James pulled a bottle from among the rest of the trash, and inspected its eroded description. Ah, gin. He put his lips to the glass and desperately sucked for the contents. A small stream made its way down his throat, and his bloodshot eyes gleamed in delight. A small grin appeared under his dirty, raggedy beard. That should last me an hour or so.
Having had his morning wake-me-up, James decided he ought to figure out where he was. He ambled his way out of the alley, his ankles cracking from the exertion. He came onto the sidewalk, admiring the generous view from an approaching woman’s skirt. The woman, olive-skinned and curvy, noticed him eyeing her and quickly made for as wide a circuit around him as she could. The woman’s aversion didn’t bother James. He kept on leering at her luscious thighs. Not going to let a little attitude ruin my view.
As the woman’s figure stalked farther and farther away, James turned his attention towards his surroundings. There was a fair amount of traffic, which meant it was probably somewhere around 2 o’clock. How the hell did I sleep that late?
James spent the rest of the day wandering around the city in pursuit of happiness. He stopped at all the usual spots. He rummaged through the garbage behind some of the finer restaurants, eating whatever he could find. He also went to the bottle collection at his favorite liquor store and scrounged up what he could.
He managed to get himself rather liquored up. So much so that he decided he would go for a swim in the ocean. It was a good way to clean up, as well. He did try to stay clean, but it was rather difficult when you found yourself waking up in garbage on most mornings. Of course, inebriated swimming probably wasn’t a very good idea because James soon found himself vomiting seawater on the sand. He was so exhausted that he walked up to the boulevard and passed out on a bench. Nothing wrong with retiring early; he had had a pretty successful day, after all.
Ricky slowed as his car approached a stop sign. He put his hands to his head in frustration and grunted, breathing heavily. He punched the steering wheel with a closed fist.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” asked his friend who was sitting in the front seat. “Why the hell are you punching shit?”
Ricky shook his head. “Man, this shit sucks. How the hell are we going to go to this party tonight if we don’t have any fuckin’ booze?” The light turned green, and Ricky took a right turn, one hand on the wheel with his head resting against his window.
The kid riding shotgun, Eric, tapped his fingers against his head in thought. “How about that kid who was on your baseball team when you were a freshman? The one with the chinstrap? He could buy for us couldn’t he?”
Ricky snorted derisively. “Do you ever read the friggin’ paper, you moron? The chinstrap kid, whose name is Brad, by the way, just got arrested for buying for minors. The cops claimed that he purchased all of the booze for an entire house party. Kids probably going to jail, so I doubt he’ll go to the store for a five fucking dollar tip.”
Ricky noticed Eric's glare from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry, man. I’m just pissed off. Angela asked me to grab her some vodka, and I’m not in the mood to listen to her bitch later.”
Eric laughed. “Well, I can’t blame you for being uptight when you’re facing those kind of possibilities.” He shook his head and gave Ricky an incredulous look. “What the hell were you thinking offering to buy her stuff?”
Ricky gently pressed down on the brake as the car approached a red light. He leaned his neck side to side, hearing a few satisfying cracks. He turned to his friend. “The vodka’s not technically only for Angela,” he said with a grin.
Eric looked at Ricky questioningly. Then laughed. “Which girl is it this time, Rick? Please tell me it’s not Olivia.”
Ricky’s face flushed. “Hell no, you asshole! I would never touch that whale.” He shook his head frowning. “Dude what the fuck.”
Eric’s head lolled about the place emitting sounds of laughter. “Damn, you suck at sarcasm.” He looked at Ricky, who had turned the car left, heading towards the beach. “I was obviously kidding, you idiot. But seriously, who is the broad?”
Ricky pursed his lips and scratched the top of his head. “Amanda,” he muttered.
Eric broke out laughing. “You got to be kidding me, dude. Amanda? That chick is fuckin’ crazy, man! She just broke up with Alex like a month ago, and she’s been on a rampage ever since. Why on earth would you even consider trying to get with her?”
Ricky shrugged. “I’ve dealt with crazier chicks, and besides, she’s got a great ass.”
Eric nodded. “I can’t fight you there. She does indeed have a particularly fine bottom.”
Ricky glanced out the window, enjoying the silence that was so evasive whenever he was with Eric. Of course, it never did last that long. “Which girls that you’ve chilled with have been crazier than this lunatic?”
“I’d say that Julie was pretty crazy,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she had her period for the entire two months I was with her.”
“True,” replied Eric. “But I never heard of her slapping a guy in the face for telling her that he liked her hair.” Ricky turned to Eric, confused. Eric chuckled. “Please tell me that this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this story?”
Ricky pulled his car into a parking spot overlooking the ocean. “Sadly, I’m going to have to admit that I haven’t had the privilege of hearing this one yet? Though I did hear that she did a number on a guy last week who tried to cop a feel on the dance floor.”
“That’s a good one too, bro,” he laughed. “But yeah, last Monday Derek commented on her new hair color in the cafeteria, and let’s just say that she was not very appreciative of his compliment.
Ricky watched the waves crash on to the beach, envisioning the pretty recently-turned blonde girl slapping Derek in front of everyone. His vision really seemed to hark on the red bruise replacing the kid’s usually smug look. “Well, Eric. I really can’t blame her for hitting Derek. He’s a pompous ass, and I’m sure she—just like the rest of us—was just looking for any excuse to slap that piece of work.”
Both of them laughed. Derek was notorious for believing himself to be a player. Ricky had more than one memory of Derek wronging him, so he felt no pity that his adversary had been publicly humiliated. It only made the prospect of getting with Angela that much sweeter. Besides, she was definitely cute, and he loved a good challenge. Why go for a raging slut, when you could try to tame a girl like Angela?
He rolled down his windows and opened the sunroof, letting the cool ocean breeze into the car. He turned off the A/C, and reclined his seat all the way back so that he was looking out the sunroof. The fresh air felt nice on his skin. It had been so hot lately that he’d become accustomed to air conditioning. The sky above had become an almost navy blue. It was nearing seven o’clock. This reminded him of the fact that he still hadn’t gotten any booze yet.
Eric, who had followed Ricky’s lead in leaning his seat back, appeared to have dozed off. Ricky thought about shaking him, but instead turned the radio’s volume all the way up. Eric jumped up with a start, just missing banging his head against the dashboard. “What the fuck, man!”
“Shut up,” Ricky said. “We still don’t have any booze, man! What the hell are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Eric said as he brought his seat back to its regular position. “Why don’t we ask that guy?” he asked, pointing towards a bum lying face down on a bench on the boardwalk.
James grumbled to himself in his sleep. He dreamed of beaches full of beautiful women, clad in string bikinis, each and every one of them wanting nothing more than to please his every wish. His every wish, of course, was another drink. Dream James reclined on a beach chair, the glorious sun washing his body over with warmth. He sipped pina colada after pina colada savoring the strong island rum that constituted most of the drink. He was just getting his lips ready for another go when all of a sudden a huge towering wave appeared out of nowhere, crashing over him.
He awoke with a start staring at some kid, who for some reason decided that today was a great day to go poking homeless people.
“What do you want?” he muttered, rubbing his face. James eyed the young man before him, and then realized that there was another one a few yards back. The kid in front of him looked timid; the other one looked mortified. Guess I’m some kind of modern day monster.
The kid who had poked him bit his thumb nail. “Um, I was just—well, we,” he stuttered, gesturing to his companion, who nodded. “We were just wondering whether you’d want to go to the store for us.”
Were kids really this useless these days, he thought. When James was these kids’ age, he and his buddies would wait outside the liquor store until they saw someone who fit the general description of a potential buyer: basically someone who needed the few nips that a small tip would garner them. They would never have resorted to waking up a bum on the beach. Better to leave him to his death.
James considered the situation. He could keep sleeping, or—“Six bucks,” he grunted.
“Deal,” the poker blurted.
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