pFFfffth. I take a big drag off of the joint. I think this is my third of the day. I took one this morning to help with the hangover from last night. I got Xixi to come to the bar with me: they wouldn’t serve me pitchers of beer if I was alone. I was having another bad night, laying in bed and looking at my arm where you would have been curled under. I can’t recall too much from last night. I drank a lot. I kept my composer in front of him…I think. I gotta remember to call him and ask. He’s used to me asking about the night before, I black out almost every drinking session I partake in. The next thing I remember is I’m puking in the bathroom sink. I think someone else is in the bathroom with me, but when I ask Xi about it, he says he must have left before that. I think the guy was in the stall, I think we made jokes. I hope I paid the bill. Petri will understand, I think she could tell I wasn’t in a good place when she poured…what…the fifth pitcher? I don’t even think Xi was drinking any, just sipping on a pint. I tried to masturbate when I got home. I know this, not because I can feel it in my post-masturbatory morning dick, but because of the lube and the wasted condoms. I start to get horny, thinking of my failure last thinking, thinking I owe it to past Tsumotu. I owe it to the poor sucker, pathetically grabbing at his dick, lubing his hand with tears (no, not really, but it’s a good image…gotta remember to write that down), wanting to come but not being able to, cursing her name. I poke at my dick, floating in the cold tub water.
I take another drag off the joint, and think of the last time we fucked.