Another night on the town. Just girls and booze and lots of smoking and driving fast and people laughing like idiots thinking they’re so goddamn cool but really they’re just like everybody else. I’m sitting in the back of the car and we’re moving forty miles too fast in a twenty-five and the fat guy who is driving is smoking a Camel and he’s on top of the whole world, thinking he’s God, as the wheels seem to float off the ground as we reach 100 on the sixty and I’m staring out the window---feeling lost and empty---tracing my name on the fogged up glass, realizing I want to cry, but I’m so dead inside that I can’t. My “friend” James turns to me and he asks me if I want a smoke and I say sure because I can’t say no and I light up and I choke but then I ease into it, and every time I talk, I riddle my speech with “shits” and “fucks,” because I’m a shy weak fuck.
Just another night on the town. We’re driving on Main, and there’s all these empty souls just like us, standing around, chatting, lighting cigarettes, talking about how much they hate their parents, how much police officers suck, who they’ve fucked lately, what drugs they’ve tried--- some new drug I’ve never heard of. Collie parks the car on the curb and we crawl out and head toward this small gathering of blondes who are wearing bunny ears and smoking cigs and cussing and one girl has a beer bottle in her hand and they all have really glossy eyes and lips and I feel sick.
“What’s up?” one of the girls asks, and I’m not sure which one, because they all look the same.
“Just hanging out and shit,” Collie says, and it seems we end every sentence with “and shit.”
What you doin’?
Hangin’ at the mall and shit.
Goin’ to the movies and shit.
Just doing shit and shit.
James is talking to me but I can’t hear him and this car with a loud muffler rattles by and I hear screaming and these sophomores stick their heads out the car and flip everyone off and smoke cigs and scream “SUCK IT!” and we all force dead laughter and James says something again, something about milf chicks, but I’m not sure, because I’m on lots of Demerol and Lexapro and it seems like everyone I know is on Lexapro, and Lexapro makes it so you can’t get it up, and I haven’t had an orgasm for three months now and I really don’t care.
One of the blonde chicks is talking to me and I take a drag off a cig and I pretend to listen.
“I’m thinking about getting a tattoo on my lower back. I’m like addicted to tattoos. It’s like crack for me I just want to get more and more and I love it when people notice them and compliment them and”
blah blah blah fucking blah
“Um...yeah...sure...whatever,” I say.
Collie is with some other blonde chick and they’re talking and he leaves with her and James is off somewhere else, in the dark, smoking pot with some junkie most likely and I’m just standing here with this plastic girl wearing bunny ears, thinking she’s the goddamn Playboy bunny or some shit. She even has a Playboy bunny tattoo on her neck.
God, I want to kill her.
Her eyes are glossy and stuck in this permanent dumb ass stare and she just keeps talking about tattoos and I look around, bored out of my fucking mind and shit.
She tells me she has a tattoo on her cunt. “Do you wanna fuck?” she asks, and I just shrug, and say, “Um...yeah...sure...whatever.” I’m in her car and I’m fiddling with my fingers and listening to Dashboard Confessional and heavy-metal and rap on the stereo. A song plays “we’re losing our souls” and tears run down my face and I wipe them away and the blonde cunt asks me what’s wrong and I say, “Nothing. Just drive. Keep your goddamn eyes on the road.”
She drives out to the middle of nowhere, in some field, and I look at her pasty face in the dark, smeared in gallons of cheap make-up. She reeks of perfume and hand lotion. She starts taking off her shirt and asks me to rip off her pants and I tell her to take off her own goddamn clothes and just continue taking drags off my cigarette. She has ugly flap-jack boobs.
Eventually we’re in the backseat and I can’t get it up and I’m getting pissed off and the next thing I know I’m putting cigarettes out in her eyeballs and she’s screaming and I punch her until she stops moving and breathing.
I remember the time I set my “friend” up with a girl who I knew was infected with herpes.
I remember the time I poked holes into my “friend’s” condoms.
I remember the time I rolled cyanide into a “friend’s” joint.
I remember the time I hung a stupid blonde in my shower and ate her out while she choked to death.
I’m sitting in some random restaurant with “the guys” and all we talk about is perverted sex and cars and girls and drugs and I stifle a yawn. The waiter is slow. I’m bored. I want to kill myself. James is talking about a girl he fucked tonight. He’s saying she was easy pussy or something and I tell them I killed a girl tonight and there’s this long awkward silence and then I force a smile and the whole table eases into nervous laughter.
My food is cold and I’m not hungry.
James talks about a new way of getting high. Collie talks about this girl he fucked with huge tits, but her cunt smelled like rotten tuna. Someone, I don’t know who, talks about his parole officer and detention and how teachers are stupid and cops are stupid and parents are stupid and how authority is stupid and I’m just staring blank eyed at whichever longhair prick is spewing this dribble and I am so fucking sick. I have a slight feeling of déjà vu and realize its just history repeating itself.
Just another night on the town.
Collie says he once fucked a religious chick and made her cry out Jesus’ name in bed and then someone, from somewhere, says, “We’re all going to hell.”
“Yeah, but we’ll party!” Collie laughs.
My stomach is twisting up in knots. “Who fucking cares.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who fucking cares,” I say. “You go wherever...and...that’s life. And shit.”
I take a sip of a soda, but my taste buds are so dull I can’t tell what it is.
My cell rings and I pick it up and listen to some girl I don’t know drone on the other end about how we never hang out anymore and that she’s mad because I’m hanging out with James and she doesn’t like James and I ask why and she doesn’t tell me and I say, “Um...yeah...sure...whatever” and hang up on her and then I go into the bathroom and smash a toilet seat.
Next thing I know it’s nearly three in the fucking morning and I’m at some party with a bunch of people I could care less about and I’m sipping spiked punch and these blonde girls are talking to me and they’re wearing bunny ears.
“Did you know that Lilly is going out with Drake?”
I feel myself twitching and I say so very numbly I don’t think anyone hears me, “Who cares.”
I remember the time I got drunk at a party and I started screaming at everyone: “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU ALL! I FUCKING HATE ALL OF YOU! YOU ALL THINK YOU’RE SO GODDAMN COOL! BUT YOU’RE FUCKING NOT!!! I WILL KILL YOU ALL! YOU WORTHLESS PIECES OF SHIT!!! YOU FUCKING GAY ASSHOLES!!!”
Everyone laughed. They said I was a fun drunk.
I listen to this guy talk about all the people he wants to kill. He wants to kill people who don’t drink or smoke. He wants to kill people who believe in God. He wants to kill anyone who’s a virgin. He wants to kill people who go to church. He wants to kill people who get good grades in school.
I tell him he’s a fucking piece of shit.
He lunges at me but some blonde holds him back and I tell him I’m just fucking with him and I go grab him a glass of punch. I drop a cyanide tablet in it.
I’m trying to fingerbang some girl but her pussy is too tight and I can’t get my fingers in. And I’m thinking I’ll probably tell some longhair in study hall that she smells bad down there. And this makes me even more depressed and homicidal.
A blonde girl shares a poem she wrote with me:
I see your eyes bleeding
I see your heart beating
I see everything that’s wrong with you
I see that you’re a whore
I tell her it sucks and to shoot herself.
Someone asks me who I’m going out with and I actually say “your mom.”
I look at the other guys at the party and they all have long hair and they’re all laughing like junkies and I’m just sitting in a corner, trying to be ignored, and I keep drinking punch, and I feel woozy.
I get bored of the stupid repetitive sex jokes and the drama shit and guys kicking around soda cans for amusement and....
I leave and go to another party, in the next room, but I can’t tell the difference.
James comes up to me, and I think I already know what he’s going to say. He’s going to ask me if I know someone. Most conversations here start with “Do you know (insert name)?” And then it’s followed by a less amusing story about said person or perhaps some stupid rumor or some drama shit that I really don’t give a fuck about.
Two blondes are bitching about who slept with a certain guy and I am not feeling good.
“Hey, do you know that one Miller girl?” James asks.
“There’s a million fucking Millers.”
“Uh...she’s the blonde one.”
“Yeah. Who cares.”
“Who fucking cares,” I say again.
“Uh...yeah...I don’t know.”
“Uh...yeah...I dunno,” I mock.
Blah blah blah and shit.
There’s a long silence, and then James says, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with my life, man.” And since the topic of conversation isn’t perverted sex or girls or cars or drugs, I have no idea what to say, and I get nervous, and start fidgeting, lighting a cigarette, and and and and....
“Uh...yeah...sure...whatever,” I say, walking off into the crowd.
Just another night on the town. And shit.