Scared yet?

Homeward

He stumbled. He knew the way, or at

least he was reasonably sure he did,

but he had a hard time staying on

track.

He fell. He decided to just stay there

for a minute, and catch his breath.

When he got up, a moan escaped his

lips; he didn't hurt, exactly, but he

was frustrated. He looked up at the

afternoon sun, and he didn't

remember it getting so late. Where

did the time go?

He just shrugged and walked it off.

Home. That was his thought

process; I have to get home.

He'd been drunk before, of course.

There were times where he couldn't

remember events from the night of

revelry, but he'd never had a

substantial blackout before. For the

life of him, he couldn't remember

what had happened between doing

shots at the bar and stumbling

around now, at least sixteen hours

later. Was he asleep? Where were

his friends?

Why did he have only one shoe?

He thought about asking the woman

sitting in the park bench. Asking her

what? He forgot.

He was so confused, but he was

sure that he couldn't be drunk

anymore.

"My god," he thought, "am I sick?"

The lady on the park bench was

pretty. He moved in her direction.

She looked past him.

He loomed over her, and she

continued to ignore him.

"Hey," he tried to say, but his words

came out a gasp. Tongue tied, he

stood there, trying to ask a simple

question without appearing to be a

fool or simpleton. He just needed to

use her phone, if she had one. He

grew nervous and agitated; it was

like he was stuck in a dream, and he

couldn't get the words out, but he

knew exactly what he wanted to

ask.

All she did was dismissively grunt in

his general direction.

He knew when to take a hint, so he

kept walking towards home.