@random

text — boise, idaho.

I watched this video (nsfw) last night and it must have crept into my subconscious because when I woke up this morning the following short story was rattling around in my head. I wouldn’t usually post it, but then I read this and decided to give it a shot.

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I wake up at about 8pm somewhere in downtown Boise, Idaho. The sun is still high in the sky. The city is surrounded by mountains. I have never been to Boise before and I have no idea how I got here.

My head is pounding. My stomach is churning. My tongue tastes of liquor and cigars. I need something cool and non-alcoholic to wash last night out of my mouth. I stumble out of the alley that served as my bed and eyeball a Subway down the street.

I order a Large Dr. Pepper from the skater boy behind the counter. I pay him from a large wad of unexpected hundreds in my pocket. He scowls at the large bill, but makes change.

I walk outside and take a long pull of the brown liquid. It’s good, until it hits my stomach. I throw it back-up along with some bile and remnants of last night’s dinner. The Doctor Pepper is cold and acidic as it flows through my nostrils.

Is that calamari? I look at what I have created on the sidewalk and the night before comes into focus for a moment:

I was in Vegas last night.

The crazy Russian plastic surgeon was challenging anyone in the bar that he could do five shots of Stoli faster than them. The bet was $1,000. I didn’t have a grand, but I figured I could run faster than the fat bastard if I lost. The shots were poured and we drank. I beat him by a couple seconds.

He pulled out the wad of cash that was currently residing in my pocket and slapped it on the bar. He mused that I must be a man of means if I can risk a grand on a bar bet. I tell him I’m currently between jobs and that all my worldly possessions together probably aren’t worth $1,000.

He laughs, slaps me hard on the back, and calls me “son of bitch.”

He tells me that “he gives woman big boobs” and emphasizes the size of his profession with his cupped hands in front of his barrel chest. He loudly brags that he has probably felt up half the bar’s female patrons.

We drink more, lots more. Every time I turn around there’s another woman hanging on the good doctor. Every time I turn back around there is a new drink waiting for me.

Things become less clear after this. Bar hopping, a plane ride, calamari, and now I’m in Boise.

I sit on the curb and wipe spittle and sweat from my mouth with the back of my hand. A family licking ice cream cones walks by and gives me the evil eye. The little boy asks his daddy why that man is sitting next to puke and dad shushes him. I realize that I haven’t moved since my stomach let its contents loose.

I get up and walk. I try the Dr. Pepper again and It’s much kinder this time around. As I stroll through Boise I start thinking that the worm may have turned for me. I got a new town, some money in my pocket, and my hangover is receding. I’m a lucky son of bitch.

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Authors note: I visited Boise, Idaho on a business trip and found it very favorable. While there, I did eat at a Subway, but I did not vomit in the street. Hope you enjoyed the story.