grey_goose raze we mixed screwdrivers that were so stiff the orange juice was more like food colouring than anything the tongue could taste. i took a few slugs straight from the bottle. just so i could say i did. we slowed down every guitar riff we played until it became something deeper and stranger. he rode his bike to buy rolling papers. i took a piss and sang something to myself about needing a new companion. by the time we lit up the first joint, we were so drunk the weed didn't do a thing to us. he called a cab when he was ready to go. i watched him bob and weave his way out the door. empty beer cans fell from the open mouth of his beige backpack. "buddy," the driver said when they got back to his parents' place. "hey buddy. wake up. we're at your house." the next day he would tell me he remembered throwing up in my sink, though nothing but water stained the bottom of the basin. i hid the bottle of vodka behind my back thinking that made it invisible. i stuck it in the fridge so i could drink the rest of it later. i never made it back down the stairs. i listened to my own music on headphones. it sounded all wrong. i couldn't get inside the sound. i called liz because i hadn't heard from her in a while. "i thought you were in the hospital," i said. she laughed and said she'd call me in the morning. she told me to drink a tall glass of water and take an aspirin. said it would help with the hangover. i'd never had that much to drink before, so i did what she said. but not before i puked all over my bed. i covered up the half-digested food and booze with my shirt. i made that invisible too. in the morning the vodka was gone. the vomit was still there. i stripped my bed and washed the sheets. i didn't feel tired. i didn't even have a headache. i felt like a million bucks, give or take a hundred grand. and liz was as good as her word. i still have the piece of unlined paper i wrote her phone number on all those years ago. a scentless remnant of what came out of me that night stains the page to remind me there are some scars you can't see. 240110 what's it to you? who go blather from