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“Brooklyn Times”

Published: October 17, 2008
Section: Arts, Etc.


It was hot outside. It was hot inside. My head drooped lazily against the cold tiled floor and a small shudder moved through my intoxicated body.

“What are we going to do about Mat?” A slurred voice crept towards me above the sounds of London Calling.

“Nothing…” I closed my heavy eyelids and tried to remember the last time I had slept for more than two hours at once. Wednesday… or was it Tuesday? The days and nights were slurring together worse than my words. Nothing fit.

“We have to get him to drink some water or something.”

“He can take care of himself. Now shhhh… I am trying to remember the last time I slept.” It was a pointless exercise.

The room swayed beneath me as I lifted one eye open. The scene laid out in front of me felt very… overwhelming. An emaciated girl rolled around on the floor, begging for another joint. On the coffee table three people performed the delicate task of rolling one for her. I half listened to Allen who was regaling the ottoman with an animated monologue:

This one time I was sitting on a bench while some kids played whiffle ball next to me. My arms were folded and my legs crossed as I tried to ignore the noisy little brats and enjoy the tiny slice of green in front of me. Suddenly, one of the kids hit the ball right in my direction. I’m not sure quite how I did it but –with out turning my head– I reached out … and snatched the ball as it shot past me. Like a Superhero, I had performed the most athletic feat of my life. The kid’s mouths all dropped open and their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. I had never felt so cool in my whole life!

Jack was curled up in the corner tripping off some random hallucinogen and next to him I spotted Sophia leafing through a tall stack of albums. Alex had crept up to me on her hands and knees – too drunk to traverse the Park Slope basement without the support of four limbs.

Rolling on to her back next to me she let out an exusted breath. “I think I’m going to split open and fall out on the floor.”

“I want an omelet.” It was the only response I found suitable for the moment.

Is this really what my life had become? A series of blurry nights and empty days? I used to feel like I had something to avoid, but now I was just playing along. Pretending. I was always pretending around them.

Pretending to be intoxicated, pretending to be entertained, mostly pretending to care about the things they cared about. School, Friends, Weed, Indie Music, Coffee, the Environment. I couldn’t give a shit about anything anymore. I felt empty inside. So I slowly picked my self off the floor and wondered up to the cramped kitchen to whip together an omelet. That would fill me up… for a little while at least.