WARNING!!!...this is long and not very good as it was written a long time ago (10 years), is very incomplete, poorly written, and based on a true story that lasted 3 more days than is written which barely covers the first day/night...so proceed with caution
damn good weekend though...damn good weekend! when i was seventeen i had my very first beer. It was a very good beer, I bought it with a fake ID....j/k i was of age my friend not so much and yes Pearl Jam had a small influence on the changing of names to protect the identity of those involved...read on with caution...



It was a Thursday evening and the beginning of a-unbeknownst to my friend and I-3 day drinking binge. We were drinking at our regular bar on Marshall street. I had my usual, Bombay and tonic, and my friend, Franco Parloutin, was having a beer. There was a baseball game on the televisions which neither one of us were very interested in and unrecognizable, generic, tunes on the stereo.
We enjoy the atmosphere here. Everyone behind the bar knows us and everyone in front ignores us. I don't like nosy crowds so the anonymity suits me just fine.
We were sitting at the far end of the bar. To the right of us were two intoxicated “bar humps”-one sloppily hitting on the beautiful female barkeep, named Penny, and the other desperately fighting to keep his head above the bar- and to the left an elderly woman wearing a floral afghan-like sweater and a string of hokey costume jewelry about her neck. She was nursing what looked to be a double scotch (no doubt someone's fashionably inept grandmother with a passion for The Drink).
One of the bar humps tried to strike up a conversation with us.
“Snew gaz know zsa sco?” he said.
Frank looked at his drink then at me and smiled a "drunkard's" smile. He turned and faced the two.
“Pardon me?”. Frank asked.
“Da ya na shcor… the gam?”.
“Oh, the score of the game”.
The two looked at us with indifference-The Drink having stolen their expressions.
“Yeah za gaame” he slurred.
“No, sorry we’re not paying attention to it” Frank added after a slight pause.
I began laughing.
“What’s so funny?”. Asked Frank.
“I think that guy was hitting on you man”.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Didn’t you see the look he was givin’ you?”
“No. Hell, I think he was lookin’ at you”.
“Yeah” I said laughing. The alcohol had begun to seep into my bloodstream and I found myself a little giddy.
Then, blindly reaching for his drink, Frank smashed his glass on the bar breaking it cutting two of his fingers.
“Fuck!” yelled Frank.
Some of the patrons looked at us with disgust (probably thinking that we couldn’t handle our liquor and should be shown the door) others offered assistance and the elderly woman sitting next to us fainted, or passed out drunk, it was hard to tell which. Quite a sight I must say.
As I sat watching Frank bleed all over the bar and the elderly woman being helped to her feet I ordered up another round of drinks and smiled wryly at Penny. She smirked and brought us a few paper napkins and a bandage to wrap up the injured's fingers.
"I've got this round guy's" she said in her sweet southern accent.
Our faces lit up as thoughts of broken limbs, bruised craniums, and severed hands rushed through our heads plotting some new "accident" in hopes of another free round.
The evening was just beginning and we could smell it. The tension in the air desperately in need of cutting, the sight of gushing blood, and the electricity that was hovering about us now. We were on our way to something. But what?
"How you kids doin' tonight?, all right?" a kind voice asked from behind the bars wooden divider.
"Yeah we're good" we replied.
A big rustic looking man, surely drunk but playing it well, with a thick goatee and stringy dirty blonde hair appeared in front of us introducing himself as Shane the Head Brewer. We intro'd ourselves and Frank took to him immediately (Frank's a beer man I'm not).
“What are you guys drinkin’?” he asked.
“Gin and tonic” I replied, receiving a disappointed look.
As Shane turned to Frank you could see that he was much more interested in the drink he had.
“Is that amber?” Shane asked.
“Yeah”.
“How’s it taste tonight?”
“Good as always” said Frank.
Frank was just warming up.
He new a lot about beer and I sensed a long conversation about to commence.
“I’ll be right back I’ve gotta take a piss” I said.
I got up and headed for the bathroom. On my way I saw Autumn one of the waitresses waiving from across the room. She headed towards me with a big smile.
“Hey Noah, how are ya?” she said bubbling with politeness.
“Good. How’re you?” I asked.
“Pretty good. So what’s up?”
“Not much, Frank and I are just having a few drinks then probably heading over to The Porch to hang for awhile.” The Porch is a bar Frank and I often end up in. “Are you doing anything after work? Because if not why don’t you stop by and have a few drinks with us?”
“I’m Probably going to the pool hall with Penny and her brother like usual. My sister’s in town for the weekend so she may show up too. You know, she’s really cute. Why don’t you come to the pool hall later and I’ll introduce you.” She said tucking her hair behind her ears smiling.
“OK, maybe we will” I said.
I made my way to the bathroom and lit a cigarette. The floor was covered in vomit and the smell made me nauseous. I tried to get to a urinal without stepping in it but found myself standing in a pool of piss instead. Someone was having a really bad night I thought to myself.
When I got back to the bar Frank and Shane were still talking. Shane was explaining the brewing process and other intimate details about the brewery. On the sidelines I caught as much of the conversation as possible over the loudness of the bar. And that was all I cared for anyway.
As Frank and Shane babbled about beer, and there are a lot- stout, ale, lager, pilsner, cider, ginger, chili, flavors no man should ever taste in his beer, this, that, the other. Makes my head spin. I sat and sucked down 3 or 4 more gin and tonics and the night moved forward at a menacing pace. Just as I finished my last drink Shane invited us for a tour of the brewery. And who am I to decline a tour that involves free beer. I'm not. We ordered up one last round before the tour and we were off.
The smell definitely left something to be desired what with all the spilled and stale beer slopping beneath our feet. But we managed to make it through with all of our senses still in tact, somewhat at least. At the end we were surprisingly rewarded with a freshly bottled 12 pack. For our efforts? I think not. But it's not the reason, rather the end result that matters and this was a fine end result. We both agreed on that.

We made our way back into the bar and began drinking our last drinks. The moon was full and silver outside the rustic windows of the bar. I quietly wished I had it in my pocket to look at whenever I wanted.
“Noah.” Said Frank.
I was still interested in the moon and didn’t hear him.
“Noah!” Frank said again this time more loudly grabbing my attention.
“What?” I asked. “What the hell do you want?”
“It’s almost 11:30,” he said “and this place is dead. Lets go.”
I agreed and finished my drink as fast as I could knowing that Frank would be on his way out the door and to the street before I could even ask for the tab if I didn’t. Franks the type of guy who’s always on the go, always looking for something more and on Thursday through Saturday nights usually finds it.
“Penny, honey can we have the tab?” I asked.
“Don’t y’all worry about that tonight all right?” she said.
We thanked her walking towards the door and turned back quickly to say that we might see her later and if we didn’t to “have a good time tonight”.
She smiled a big smile for us as we left.

The night air was clean and cool and crisp just waiting to be violated by the boisterous drunks out staggering in the streets. And maybe by us too.
“What the shit are we going to do tonight?” I asked.
“I’m working on it,” said Frank “Just have some patience my friend.”
The streets were wild for a Thursday evening and that was the way Frank and I liked it.
It was much easier to get caught up in what was already going on than to have to create something from scratch and try to infect those around you. Though the latter has its shining moments also. It forces you to be extremely inventive. Finding ways to entice and encapsulate an audience of otherwise passive citizens. I remember once, Frank, in a drunken slurring frenzy, stumbled down Main street screaming: “Pooh bear is God! Pooh bear is God!” a quote from Kerouac’s “On The Road”.
Everyone was watching him with disbelief and confusion. Then like a bat out of hell he stripped off his shirt and bare chested took off into the street yelling “The war has begun and I am the snake! The war has begun and I am the snake! Don’t look under your beds for I am the snake and I am under your bed and the war has begun!”. This went on for the good part of 15 minutes until the whole block was screaming along with him. The war has begun and I am the snake! Pooh bear is God and I am the snake! Pooh bear is at war and the snake has begun! People were screaming all possible combinations without a care in the world as to what it was they were saying. Frank approached me, sweat pouring down his face and looked me straight in the eyes and said “Man, what are you doing standing around there’s a party happenin?!”
I could say nothing. I was still unable to believe what had just happened. Frank took an ordinary and very dull evening downtown and turned it, and everyone with it, into one huge extravaganza of an evening.
There was no need for those types of antics tonight though. The streets were buzzing with exceptional energy and my head was starting to join in.
“The first thing I’m going to do tonight,” I said. “is get myself good and drunk and then throw up in somebody’s lap.”
“Where’d that come from?” asked Frank. ”You haven’t had that much to drink yet.”
“Where’d what come from?”
I knew what he was speaking of but I played dumb so I wouldn’t have to explain.
“You damn well know what I’m talk-ah never mind you're just a crazy shit Noah, you know that?”
“I certainly do Mr. Parlouuu” I said drawing out the ouuuu on purpose and not completing his last name to get him going.
“Calm down. Lets head over to the Porch before all the assholes get there”
He was somewhat perturbed but tolerant of my foolishness. I had a few more drinks than he had beers at The Marshal Street Brewery so he wasn’t exactly seeing the beauty in becoming a bit insane as I was. Still, he was definitely ready to.
“Blake, Parloutin!” someone shouted. The voice came from the long line forming outside the local yuppie bar.
I strained to see who it was. They were across the street and my eyes aren’t so hot after I’ve had a few, so the sea of people just blurred together.
“Who’s that!?” Frank shouted.
“Doctor Z.!” the voice sounded more familiar this time. We were thinking it was Dick Zandilere. Sometimes when he’s drunk he makes up these wacky names always using the first letter of his last name as the punctuation like Doctor Z or Cray Z. etc.…etc.… he’s a real riot that one. We had met him at a casino in Atlantic City. We were tooling around the different Blackjack tables desperately trying to win are money back and he was just about broke when he decided to spend his last five bucks on a long shot. The million dollar slot. You can guess what happened next. The crazy fuck hit for the million dollars.
And for the rest of the night paid for all of our expenses, and there were a lot let me tell you. We must have spent about 10 grand between the three of us, in three hours no less.
So regardless to say Dick’s a helluva good guy and we love running into him, even though he ended up blowing the rest of his winnings on booze, gambling and women. But I figure if your gonna blow money might as well do it on those things right?
“Dick?” I shouted as we made our way across the street “Is that you, the luckiest bastard on earth?”
“You know it buddy.” He had jet black hair greased back either by water or some super hold gel and it looked like the top of his left ear was missing. The yellow button down shirt he had on was unbuttoned around his bellybutton and having no undershirt the fur from his gut was poking through. He seemed in good spirits despite the lack in appearance. Did I forget to mention the worn out brown corduroys he was sporting along with the dirtiest 5 o’clock shadow I had ever seen?
We came closer and Frank asked him for a cigarette. Frank was a terrific chain smoker.
“Hey Dickey Z, what the hell you been doin’ with yourself ?” I asked.
“Been drinkin’ mostly, sometimes sit at home, sometimes roam the area, you know, whatever the night tells me to.”
“Hey did you hear, Franks brother got a job in Vegas.”
His eyes widened and immediately Frank and I knew he thought we could somehow hook him up and maybe win back his money in some convoluted conspiracy that his brother might be able to fix out there.
“Easy old Z man,” Frank said with a cigarette loosely hanging off his lips. He often thought it was cooler to talk with a cigarette loosely hanging off his lips. “I know what your thinking so stop thinking it. My brother isn’t that high ranking out there and even if he was I would never ask him to do anything that might get him in trouble. You hear me?”
Dick wasn’t liking what he was hearing and smiled playfully and said:
“Oh I wasn’t thinking nothin’ like that you guys I just thought it could be fun, you know, if the three of us flew or drove or whatever out there for a weekend or something. Like old times.”
“Yeah like old broke times.” I said.
“Listen Dick,” said Frank. “The night is young and this definitely is not our scene so we gotta get goin’ to where we’re goin’ OK?”
“Sure, whatever. But I really didn’t mean anyth-“
“I know. I know you didn’t. listen take care of yourself will ya and don’t spend so much” Frank turned and swiftly began moving towards our destination leaving me behind with Dick.
“It was good seeing you again Dick take it slow all right?” I said and turned to see where Frank had gone.
“So, where you guys headin’ tonight?”
Dick could never just let you go.
“maybe, I was thinking maybe I could meet up with you and Frank later.”
“The Ground Turkey on Sentinel street.” I said biting through the thickness of the lie.
I walked to Frank who was chatting it up with a couple of slutty chicks further on up the street. The blonde was definitely digging Frank but the brunette seemed more interested in her wristband than anything Frank had to say.
“That Dick is some character isn’t he?” I said.
Frank paid me know attention and I knew he meant no disrespect. When he’s trying to get his groove on that’s all he tries to do. Someone could take a baseball bat to his head and he’d just scratch the spot where it had made impact and go on wooing his hopeful lady.
“Why don’t we all head over to The Porch?” I suggested.
That got Franks attention. Bar? Where? When? Women? Beer? And he was right back in the conversation.
“Sure.” He said. “ You ladies want to join us for a few and maybe more than a few drinks tonight?”
“I don’t know if we can,” the blonde said “Cindy has a date she has to meet at around 12:15 over on Marshall street.”
“If that’s true then you don’t have anything to worry about.” I said smiling at Cindy.
She wasn’t the typical make-up slathered fake like most of the others in the area. She was a cute girl who-I later found out was from Colorado originally-had this natural innocent beauty about her which I find to be much more attractive on a girl than the dirty slut type like her friend. Though I would never tell Frank this.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because The Marshall St. Brew closes at midnight and it’s midnight now.”
She looked utterly let down that her date could blatantly ask her to show up somewhere knowing it was closed.
I told her I was sorry and asked her if she’d like to join us now seeing that her date was a bomb. She agreed and we all headed for The Porch where the live bands were sure to be on tonight. I just knew they would be. It was that hovering electricity again that assured me.
The music was blaring and to have a conversation was all but impossible if you didn’t have the vocal chords of a bear. The band was some local play anything and everything band and the lead singer looked really haggard and strung out. Just the way a rock star should.
“Hey Noah!” Frank screamed.
He was shouting about 2 inches from my ear and still I struggled to hear him.
“What!?” I answered.
“Isn’t that your ex girl over there?” he motioned towards the restrooms.
I turned to look and sure enough their she was standing with a cigarette in one hand and a double scotch straight in the other talking to some worn out guy who I was sure I could kill if the situation presented itself.
“Sure is” I said. “That cunt shakes her ass at anything with a dick”
“You’re just sayin’ that because she left you for another guy” Frank said. The smile on his face was growing.
“Fuck you! You know how she is. you couldn’t even say that with a straight face ya bastard.”
“Go and say hi why don’t you?” Frank was kidding with me now and I thought I might just do as he asked to spice up the night a little more than it already was.
“Maybe I will smart ass” I had had enough to drink to make speaking with her at least borderline pleasurable and like I said before the guy she was with was no real challenge.
As I made my way through the crowd I could feel this great anxiety riding up my spine and forward into my stomach. It had been a couple of years since I had seen or talked with Sarah and I wasn’t sure how she would react.
“Excuse me maam which way to the urinals?” I said in a southern drawl trying to be silly.
We always had a great time together and usually ended up acting all goofy and shit while everyone around lookd on either laughing or wondering what the hell was wrong with us so I guess I was trying to warm up to her with a taste of the past.
“Noah, what the hell are you doin’ here?” she still looked at me the same as always with this intense stare that I was sure pierced my body and saw my soul.
“Me and Frank are here with a couple of girls trying to make something out of this night”
“Oh yeah? oh by the way this is Farn I met him at the Ground Turkey earlier tonight. He’s a writer.”
“A writer?” I said quickly making note of what type of shoes he had on. You can tell a lot about a person by what they have on their feet. “Would I know anything that you’ve written?”
“No, all my writings stay in my notebook” he said trying to sound like a great humble writer.
“That’s too bad, I was hoping I could read some of your stuff. You see I’m a writer too