The Wolf of Pink Street

“Let’s keep those coming until one of us passes the fuck out!”, she shouted to the bartender. And dutifully, he obliged.

At the table, they were looking at each other, as drunkenness ensued. The usual social courtesies ran out the window, faster than a cat from a raging broom.

The playful games had been initiated by a stray dice, that had rolled off the table. Alea jacta est.

(What are we going to do when fate has already been decided?)

(What are we when we compare ourselves to the extraordinary forces in the Universe? Forces beyond our understanding?)

But the forces that were acting there were pretty basic, it seemed. Alcohol in its path to the brain, dorment bodies awakening to possibilities that sobriety would not dare to engage in.

In reality, she didn’t want anyone to pass the fuck out. She wanted the situation to become favorable, at least, in the sense that senseless inaction would be prevented.

Maybe she had been severely underestimating her capabilities when she made the executive decision that all her dilemmas would be solved by inebriation. But it was too late.

In any case, this time, the matter wasn’t succumbing to alcohol completely to the point of numbing or momentarily incapacitating the ability to rationalize the pain.

She wanted to release herself from those damn inhibitions she had always tried to fight.

She wanted the nakedness of life to seduce her and lay her body on a bed, feverish.

There was barely any patience left in between her ears, her fingers, her… Never mind. There was simply no more willingness to wait for existence to manifest itself in its morose manner.

She gave the guy accompanying her, a killer look. (Not as in “I’ll murder your fucking face”, of course. The other one!)

Next thing she knew, they were hailing a taxi. (And I’m sure the cab driver saw some things he probably wished were only a product of his imagination on a lonely night.)

But she couldn’t care less about bystanders. She was freed, for the moment.

(The devil on her shoulder rejoiced.)

And then, at some point in the early hours of the next day, she did pass the fuck out. In ecstasy. Veni, vidi, vici.

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