Portrait of a Drunk

“Is it obvious I’m drunk?”

Phil is a drinker. He enjoys his wines, he enjoys his imports, and of course, he enjoys his vodka.

“Man, I’m so not drunk! Let’s go home.”

Phil pulls out the keys to his old, beat up Honda accord. He stumbles for a moment and then seems to catch himself. His shaky hands reach for the door handle and try it. It needs to be unlocked, of course. He raised his thickly calloused hand to find the keyhole. Instead he finds the dent that he had put in it the previous weekend.

“Oh shit! Some fucker hit my car while I was in the goddamn bar!”

Phil forgets.

“Where is that fucking keyhole!”

Phil runs the key along the side of the car scratching the paint off. He finally finds the hole and turns the key. Wrong way. He tries again. Bingo. Phil opens the door and steps inside. On his seat is a birthday card for his best friend that was supposed to go out months ago. He ignores it and pulls closed the door.

The key manages to find it’s way into the ignition and Phil starts the car. Phil guns the engine not yet realizing he’s still in neutral. He looks down and shifts into gear. The car jolts to life and dies once more.

“Fucking Japanese cars. Always fucking stalling on you…”

Phil starts the car again and drives off.

By the time Phil arrives at his apartment, it’s just about two o’clock in the morning. He gets up to front door holding his last beer and his keys. He downs the beer quickly, belches, and then begins groping for the handle. His apartment is unlocked. It’s always unlocked; these circumstances tend to happen quite often. Once inside, after about two tries, he manages to get the lights on.

Stumbling in the newfound setting, he goes into his bedroom at the end of the hall and begins to pull off his clothing one article at a time. First his woolen cap from his grandmother, then his thick overcoat. He undoes his tie and unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt, but loses interest and yanks the “lightly soiled” shirt off his head. Phil’s pants take a bit of difficulty. He tries to pull them off before he remembers that he’s wearing a belt. Off goes the belt, followed by the pants themselves.

He takes several steps and falls to the ground, his pants still draped around his legs. He begrudgingly flails his legs until he achieves his freedom. Sitting up on the ground, Phil decides to put himself in bed. He stands up, and falls flat on his bare mattress. Using his foot to find his comforter, he pulls it up over his legs, his body and finally his head. It’s been a long night for Phil. But he finally made it.