Satan IV

 “I used to be such a sweet sweet thing til they got a hold of me…” — Alice Cooper

Peter Criss thinks he knows about Dirty Living. And maybe he does (unless he really was that guy they thought was him, that homeless alcoholic on Donahue). I’m not claiming to be street smart (I’m more like street stupid), and I’m not a “street walker,” like my neighbor Jim says (lol), but I saw enough of these streets. And it was not good. 

After Tennessee Morgan Freeman kicked me off his property, I went back to the trailer that I was never at and drank myself into oblivion. That’s what it seemed like anyways. And I did not go to work the next day. And I did not call to tell them I wasn’t coming. And I never did, so I basically ghosted them (and that is why I am probably on the black list and can’t get a job). When I woke up at midnight I drove out to 711 to get a case of beer, so I could drink and get some sleep. I thought it would be nice to drink it on the dock, so that’s what I did.

I met a guy I had never seen in the park before. I found out that he worked construction during the day and he liked to fish at night. He had probably never seen me either, as I usually didn’t go out on the dock at that time, and wondered what I was doing. “Just having a beer,” I said casually (and every cigarette that was in my pack). He had a history with drugs, but he was better now, so he just focused on work and fishing. He was a nice guy, and I’d end up running into him a lot (purposely and accidentally). “If you don’t have a boyfriend, maybe we could be together…” he mused, with a cute grin. “I have a boyfriend…” I defended myself, “…and he lives over there,” I said as I pointed at the trailer that I was banned from (I might have actually told him I didn’t have a boyfriend (that would cause problems later). I wasn’t sure if we were still together or not (I guess we were “taking a break.” Sure)).

I told him I had to go inside to go to sleep like a normal person. He said he would probably be out all night, that was his thing (I still wonder if he was really off the drugs…(I swear I saw him smoking crack one time, but it might have just been weed)). I did try to go to sleep, but I couldn’t (that would only get worse as the drinking continued; I could almost never drink enough to fall sleep. Probably cause it was beer). I had to get up and have another beer(s), and before i knew it it was morning. Soon Tommy was waking up, and it seemed like he didn’t sleep good because I was going in and out the back door all night (i rarely used the sliding door as it was on a bad track (like me)) to get beers (at first I was drinking them warm). I told him we had more beer now, and that cheered him up (sharing is caring). 

I didn’t know what to do now that I wasn’t going to work. I decided to take a walk in the park (not one of them nice city ones, the poor dirty kind) like I usually did in the mornings even when I was working (gotta stay on schedule). I don’t remember feeling the lack of sleep because I was constantly buzzed, but when I felt a nap coming on I would go back to the trailer. But I never got a wink (I even tried sleeping on the floor to see if that would help). So my new thing was drinking and walking around, always with a lit cigarette, but usually the same route. And that’s how I met my new friend (and he met the devil).

Ross was outside his camper with his little dog Ginger. I said hello, and that’s all I know for sure: next thing I’m joining him on his patio. I had to go back to the house for more alcohol. I asked him if he wanted a beer; he said no, he doesn’t drink (anymore). I was really missing my cocktails (the whiskey and ginger ale), so I drove out to the Winn Dixie liquor store to get a bottle of LTD and a 2 liter of Canada Dry. I looked at my face in the car mirror, and it scared me. I was flushed and puffy. I looked at my teeth and they looked yellow and filmy. I couldn’t stop obsessing over my appearance. I can’t look that bad, I tried to reassure myself. Enough of that mirror shit.

I made a cocktail and brought it to Ross’s patio. It was really hot and I think he was inside trying to suck up the sucky AC. But I wanted company. I asked him if he wanted some whiskey, cause that would be fun, and he couldn’t decline. I was giving alcohol to someone that wasn’t supposed to be drinking (and had heart problems. I think he had a pace maker). He had one shot and he said that was enough for him. He said he was different when he drank. I would soon discover that he hated his life and he hated the world, and he laid in bed every night cursing god and wishing he would die (at least when I was there). Woah. He told me he was a bad man with a bad past, and I should be careful. He wore a cross around his neck.

In August of that year they found Ross dead in his camper. He was in there for a couple days before they found him. I felt so bad. I felt bad for his dog, the little companion that slept in bed with him every night. And I felt guilty. I knew I had something to do with it. I was hoping I didn’t. 

“Whiskey on beer, have no fear.”

*I have been putting off writing this because a) delayed gratification is always better, and b) it’s a really bad story. And might as well thrown in c) because I might want to use it for my book someday (you know where you saw it first!).