previous | next
November 1994 - Oil - 24 by 20 inches
The inertia from the joy of drinking propelled me several drinks beyond the unspoken contract I'd made with myself while sober. This was not readily apparent to anyone there at the bar, all of whom by now must have made similar mistakes themselves. I found myself talking to a lonely looking woman across a table as she kept reloading her glass with beers from the pitcher I had thoughtfully bought for myself. She was perhaps the weirdest woman I have ever had occasion to communicate with, and I had to keep whipping my eyes around to check whether I was on LSD or not. She told me that her dog was actually a space alien named Webstron who every night made a point of downloading the contents of her brain into an unobtrusive object that resembled a ping pong ball. "And here," she volunteered, producing a ping pong ball from some hiding place on her chest, "is the device...with all my memories since the project began back in 1987." She handed it to me with pride, and I fumbled with it drunkenly. Too drunkenly, as fate would have it, and it slipped from my fingers and bounded across the floor. At this very moment an enormous Russian Wolfhound appeared from behind the bar, and snarling in indignation, scooped up the ball and disappeared while the woman laughed as though she herself were inhabited by an alien. The very next memory I have is awaking at three on the afternoon of the next day with an enormous hangover, my car parked badly outside the window, headlights still on.
previous | next