By Mads Hansen
Chapter I
I’d been drinking every day for over a week now and my young man powers were diminishing but far from gone. Harry and I had bought a bottle of whiskey, some chicken and vegetables. No need to be unhealthy, even though you drink whenever you can. It was dark outside, not too late, soft wind and sex-generating temperature. Harry was a good friend of mine. He wanted to be a banker. He was just one of those people. He had decided that for him there was only one way to go in life: The way of the banker. This I never understood, but why need to? It was his choice, so: good for him. It looked like we had all we needed that night: good weather, food, good company and alcohol. It looked like it might be one of our nights. Of which there were very few.
“This doesn’t taste like anything.” Harry said half way through his dish.
“When have we ever made a meal that had taste?” I asked as I sprinkled more salt over my dinner. A lot of salt. Come to think of it we really had way too much salt in general. Dangerously unhealthy? Fuck health when it comes to taste. More salt now!
“True,” Harry continued, “Where should we go tonight?”
“Let’s not wander off too far.” I said thinking of places to go. We both sat in short-lived silence, as Harry quickly mentioned a bar.
“Old Blue Last?”
“Deal. Let’s go there and see some of the bands playing there for once. We are always way too drunk to see or hear anything and man we need to go out and do something else than get drunk and look at girls.” I said demandingly. We weren’t going see any bands that night.
“Alright. Let’s leave in about half an hour so we have some time at the bar before it closes.” Harry said looking depressingly at the now empty plates on the table that had to be cleaned. As for the bar we would only be there about 40 minutes before it closed.
We both got up from our seats, picked up our plates as we walked over to the kitchen and threw them in the sink.
“Let’s clean them now and just get it over with.” I said yawning. We were both tired. The tasteless meal had made our blood sugar fall and now all we really wanted to do was sleep. But none of us said anything. Youth does not sleep. So we cleaned the dishes and I mixed two drinks. Fifty-fifty, whisky cola.
Harry sat down, put his arms on the table and then his head on top and looked at his drink as if mentally trying to prepare himself for the taste of alcohol to come. At the same time I tried to find some music that would please us both. No hard task. When sober that is. Found it. The Band.
“Well it won’t drink itself.” I said picking up my glass. “Cheers!”
Harry sat up, reached for his glass and we made the drinks meet, sending out a symphonic “cling”. We had a good swig and so the game began. The game that is played amongst all kids when drinking. Who drinks their drink first, not obviously that is, who is the weakest, feeling the effect of the alcohol first, and who reaches their limit last. A true classic. And if you are lucky there is no winner. Then you know you’ve found a good drinking partner which I knew I had in Harry.
We started talking about our past; especially about our family and what lives they themselves had lived. Harry told a story about his uncle who was a writer and how he had travelled to Brussels, and on the way there had met a German angel whom he corresponded with while working as a nanny in a house taking care of two children the family owning the house had. One night, while drunk, he had sat down and wrote his German Valkyrie a letter on his old typewriter which was situated in the living room. In the letter he wrote about how much he missed her and how he truly hated the family he was staying at. After writing the letter he went up to his room and fell into a deep sleep forgetting to take the letter out of the typewriter. The next day the two parents woke him up showing him the letter. Thereafter he was quickly thrown out of the house. He had then tried to call his German love but she wanted nothing to do with him. Heartbreaking right? Harry told me his uncle didn’t come home for three months and in those three months he never sent word back home of his whereabouts. Broken heart maybe? Don’t know.
“Let’s finish our drinks and get going.” Harry said, the whisky bottle now empty.
“Deal.” We both raised our glasses and drank up.
Chapter
II
Outside. On the way to the bar. Finally. The alcohol was rushing through our young bodies but it had not yet truly hit. We were louder, and far more open towards the rest of the human race, but there was still a way to go.
“I’ve to get some money. They don’t take cards at the Old Blue.” I said to Harry, my drunken companion. We went towards the nearest ATM having to pass by the Old Blue. Close by, three girls were standing by a lamp post, one of them sitting on a bike. We passed them cautiously, trying to get a good look at their faces. Their bodies, we had examined further down the road, and we had no complaints.
“Are you girls going to the bar right there!?” Harry asked them walking half way out onto the road as if he could not talk at the same time all the while pointing at the bar. The old spirits were kicking in.
“Yes. Yes we are.” The prettiest one said.
“Good we’ll see you inside!” Harry said loudly now with a great smile on his face. We didn’t meet them again.
We got to the ATM, got the cash and were back at the bar. We straightened our backs, made our looks determined and walked in. The bouncers outside could spot a drunk from a mile away so you had to sober up as much as you could allow yourself, before trying to get in. We got in. Oh the fools.
I went straight for the bar.
“This one is on me.” I said pulling out a note.
“No more whiskey, please.” Harry pleaded, not being the biggest whisky drinker.
“Gin and tonic?”
“Perfect.”
While standing at the bar waving my note around Harry went to the bathroom and came back laughing.
“Remember the girl from the band High Hill? Well she’s right over there.” Harry nearly shouted due to the loud music and pointed towards the entrance. And there she was. We had met her the night before and she had told us she was in a band and was to play at a festival nearby on Saturday. It was Friday.
“She has my book!” I shouted even louder. Our drinks came and I walked over to her.
“Hello Janis. Good to see you. Hope you had a good time last night.”
“Hi how are you? Oh yes I did. I just love meeting new people.”
“I looked your band up online and I must say I liked that song “Baby, I call heaven.” The song was actually just called “I call heaven”. The alcohol had kicked in and I was entering a state of uselessness.
“Okay? Yeah, think I know which one you mean. Thank you.”
“Well anyway have you read the book I lent you?” I had lent her Hemingway’s the Old Man and the Sea. And not only that, I had lent her the version I had gotten from my grandmother, a version I had read many times, a version from 72´.
“I haven’t really had time to read it. Sorry. I’ve just been…”
“That’s okay.” I interrupted. “But I really need the book back. It’s somewhat of a family heirloom, one might say.”
“Have you just come over to talk to me about that book?” she said, while her voice rose with certain anger.
“Look, Janis, honey. There are only a few things more romantic than giving a beautiful woman a beautiful piece of literature, but I most have the book back at some point. You understand don’t you?”
She looked at me a few seconds as if she had just met me when she finally said:
“If you are at the show tomorrow I’ll give you your book.”
“Thank you.” I said, my body swaying. My coordination was under attack from previous beverages. She kept looking at me as if I was outstaying my welcome.
“Well anyway Janis, have a nice night and good luck with your show tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” She said already half turned away from me. Well that was it. I wasn’t going to get my book back now. She’d probably go home, burn it and while at it create a small voodoo doll of me and roast me over the fire of Hemingway’s burning words. Sorry grandmother.
I went over to Harry not sure of what had just happened.
“We need another drink. I’ll be at the bar. Same?”
“Sure.” Harry said not really paying attention to me as he clearly was on the hunt for cunt. Fine by me.
While at the bar Harry suddenly appeared next to me, and out of the blue, three girls did as well. What was this? Had he brought them to us? What skills. I was later to find out that they had simply just walked up to us by themselves. Anyway good for us. I got our drinks and turned towards the three females. They were not the pretty sort, but a man has little resistance towards most women when they show just the slightest bit of interest in you, a drunken man that is. And drunk we were.
The prettiest one, but also the one with the least exciting face, started to talk to me. The others had interesting faces but not in the beautiful way. They, in a certain light at least, looked a bit strange. Who cares I thought. This is the way of the drunken man. We drink and find women who just want or need us. And I for one have always been generous with my genitals. So I smiled at my woman and we started talking.
“So what do you do?” she asked as if we were at some kind of introduction class and had just gotten a few minutes break. Not only an unexciting face but unexciting personality. Fuck it. On with the show.
“Nothing.” I said which was true. “I am however my own most favorite writer.”
“So you write?” she said for some reason still interested in me.
“Try to. You?” I asked in the way that one felt he had to ask not to seem too much of a… well cunt. But I was a cunt, for I have no recollection of what she answered, but anyway we got to talking about films, just my kind of subject.
“Name three movies you like. Not your top three but just three movies you like.” I asked her or more likely demanded of her. See if you ask people about their favorite movies they generally don’t have an answer and if they do it will never be good enough. The trick is not to have a favorite movie. The trick is not to have a favorite of anything.
Can’t remember her answer.
Suddenly the light turned on in the bar and we were all guided out the back. As I came out Harry was wildly kissing his girl, ravaging her mouth with his tongue. Or was it the other way around? I turned and looked at my girl, Florence (I’m not a complete cunt. I remembered her name). Well there is no time to waste I thought and immediately grabbed her, pushed her up the side of the bar and made my lips meet hers. Being drunk I remember doing this, but I have no recollection of her warmth, the warmth that all women have in their lips. The warmth that makes you feel worthy.
“Let’s go.” Someone said, maybe the third girl without a mate and so we ventured back to our apartment. 40 minutes after having left.
