I find it quite difficult to articulate words, but I'm in a desperate need of a cigarette. So I ask her.
-Got a smoke?
-Yeah, sure.
Thanks God.
She pulls a pack of red Luckies from the jeans' back pocket. I can't help myself.
-Classy.
-I guess. I like the filter, it's yellowish.
I notice her subtle smile. It's that kind of smile that hides a story behind, but I feel so close to throwing up right now that I cannot say a word. I take a moment to look around me. Apparently, I'm quite near my apartment. She pulls out a cigarette for herself and lights it up with a silvery Zippo. She lights mine too.
-Refreshing.
She just smiles again and sets her eyes on a random brick on the wall.
I like her, she doesn't talk much. She didn't ask any questions.
I clumsily try to stand up.
-I gotta get home. Now.
-Hold on, cowboy. Take it easy, I'm gonna help you.
Embarrassed, embarrassed, embarrassed.
-I warn you, there's a possibility I might throw up on you.
She helps me get up on my feet and we start walking slowly. Really slowly.
-Yeah, we should get there in two days or so.
-Don't make me laugh, that will only raise the chances of your T-shirt being drowned in vomit.
-Well, there are people out there who would consider that art. Maybe I can sell it on e-bay or something.
-I'm serious...
Damn, I'm not good with names.
-...Jess
-Yeah, Jess.
I just focus on her name for as long as I can, because my mind is not ready for actual fluent thoughts yet. Ok, so one foot in front of the other. I can't believe I'm so drunk I need to remind myself how to walk. She has to hold me with both hands when I forget to step with the other foot and I find cute the way she grips the cigar in her teeth.
Ok, repeating her name over and over in my head is a potential cause of driving me crazy, so I focus on her face instead. She has short hair, that's why I thought she was a guy at the beginning, but she doesn't look like a guy at all actually. She has that poetic feminine touch, and right now, with that cigar between her full lips, she reminds me of the heroine of one of the books I had read when I was a teenager. Her eyes are brown, a little lighter than the color of her hair. She's wearing just a bit of mascara on her lashes, I can't spot any other kind of make-up on her face. Her lips seem dry, probably because the weather is getting cold. November-cold. I don't have time to finish my thoughts because she interrupts.
-You're freaking me out.
-Because I'm starring at you.
-Well, yeah.
-I need to keep my thoughts flowing, and I'm too drunk to think of something. So I'm just describing you in my mind. You should just let me continue, unless you want me to pass out.
-Nobody wants you to pass out. The Universe doesn't want you to pass out.
-Got the idea.
She's dressed in a simple black sweater, dark blue jeans and black Martens. I just wonder how hard it has to be for her to carry me. I mean, she's not model-skinny, but she still looks fragile.
I recognize the street we're on.
-Next block.
-Finally.
We climb the stairs to my apartment.
-Give me the keys.
-They're in my jacket's pocket.
She fishes for my keys and finds them immediately. Women.
-The one with the blue thinghy.
Oh God, I crave for a good sleep.
She opens the door and then the next thing I can remember is...basically nothing.
