sweating bourboun, 3rd night in a row and im to keep going, keep pouring it in making small jokes and small movements to the beat, 3rd night in a row -

today was spent in bed from 5AM to 10AM, alcohol sleep with the TV on low flickering over me. im up but not awake at 10 still kind of drunk. i can remember the bartender from Knitting Factory and the line cooks and myself staggering down the street to the next place, its called Patriot, and thus theres just country on the Juke and vomit on the walls of the bathroom and a 19 year old bartendress with an Abercrombie sweatshirt on and a definite role in some upcoming low budget porn where shell be held down and fucked by the 40 year old guy to my left from the Knitting Factory with the alcohol problem and porkchop side burns and cheaply dyed black hair, smudge tattoos

"it'll be brutal"

say to myself and wonder thereafter -
how'd i get so twisted..

but im up and not awake at 10AM and im off to the Brooklyn bound F train, through the dead air of the subway below and next to the freakish Hasids grinding through the dark to an inner brooklyn teeming with mexican dishwashers sleeping 5 to a room and hipsters worse than i sleeping 1 to an apartment and i press my head against the window and try to nod off.

--

stumbling towards work -

"energy" will be the flavor of vitamin water today - why the fuck not - with new york priorities, ive started believeing in the magical properties of vitamin water, the marketing becomes reality, and shit, ive even met its inventor, he tipped us with 4 bottles or "endurance" flavor at the restuarant, fucking genius, help me now i -

theres something about a bourbon hangover that allows you to feel every single hair of the stubble on your face, pushing through pale, swollen skin like weeds weeds though concrete, i -

i cant believe this is happening -
im slouched and dehydrated, surrounded by a swarm of children, ages 10-13, in the store that i am running -
McSweeny's Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co. - kids are testing capes, looking through jars labeled "robot shavings" "Dried Villian Bile" "Mutant Slug" "Insect Man, Pieces Of" jars of "matter" and "unrefined matter" and "flight enhancement powder" .. 4 hours to go screaming and chirping.

--

Back home for sleep - 5PM to 8PM.
they all come over at 10, just like last week, with tattoos and bandannas and private vocabulary, they call them early adapters in some book, and we drink vodka and rum and sake toll 130AM.
from then till 430, its a packed nearby club called Happy Ending, after a Vice Fashion Party - its models and bandit hipsters, pirate hipsters, dirty hipsters, handlebar mustaches hipsters, 80s hipsters, wrestling boot hipsters, and the rest of us all squeezed in, looking, talking small and making small movements to the beat.