It didn’t matter if it was
August, and the air felt like an
oven on broil, or if it was
February, and the dumpsters
were icecicles to the soul.
We needed booze, and since we
didn’t have jobs, the cans, at
5 cents a piece were our
aluminum tickets to sweet relief.
The magic click.
Enough cans meant a bottle of
whiskey
vodka
gin,
anything to dull the
sharp, vivid pain of life.
We sifted through
cat shit
catsup
dirty diapers
discarded porno mags,
and all the other
garbage from the
rich and the poor.
One winter morning,
I threw back a heavy metal lid,
and there was a fat
raccoon looking up at me.
If Bacchus or Dionysus were
smiling, we found a
full bottle.
It happened once in
a while during summer when
the college kids headed home.
Miles of walking,
freezing or burning up,
We were the aluminum
cowboys.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. I can relate, drunken math, always able to figure out how to stretch a small amount of money. That’s what I called it anyway. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, my friend.
hello dearest Thomas this is a brave write… I know what it’s like to need alcohol and not have it 💕
Thank you.