The Drunken Storytellings of a Madman.

Part 2

Looking back, it must have been rather depressing to witness. Picture it briefly, a lone man sat there drinking away said loneliness while attempting to run from the inescapable dungeon that is his perpetual boredom, using alcohol to keep himself amused, despite knowing the heavy consequence he'd have to suffer because of it later.

After a few hours, the two other men had left the ar, and all that remained was the bartender, the barmaid, the girl and I. Everything was just a blur through my eyes, and all my thoughts seemed to collide together aimlessly, as if trying to create something coherent enough to keep me on my feet. My head was resting against the desk, my mouth was agape and I more or less resembled an ape, that is, if it weren't for the suit and the skin.

Eventually the thoughts that came crashing together created the wonderful idea of trying to get back to my house, the only issue with that, however, was that my entire body didn't want to co-operate with me in the slightest, but of course, that never stopped me before, so I came to the valid conclusion that it wasn't going to stop me again.

I attempted to try and make an effort to drag myself off the table, which, if I'm going to be honest, at that point, was more drool than table. I managed to lift myself off the table, an impressive feat for anyone who was about eighty percent alcohol, in my opinion, and dragged myself to the exit. Slurring some sort of goodbye as I wandered aimlessly out of the door.

At this point, I was confused, angry and heavily intoxicated, the constant barrage of rain attacking my body didn't much help the mood either. Which is why I was completely shocked when a boy, looking about the age of ten years old, tugged on my suit and asked, "Do you want to play?"