I’m walking alone through the Everett suburbs. Honestly I don’t know where I’m walking. My band just played a show at the Warehouse, and now I’m shitfaced. I’m walking and I see a bunch of college-age kids standing outside their house drinking beers and I ask for one. This guy hands me a beer. Then Samantha pulls up to me in her car.
“What are you doing back here?” I ask.
“I couldn’t remember how to get home,” she says.
“But you left half an hour ago.”
“I’ve been driving in circles. I haven’t drunk like this in two months, I don’t know what I’m doing. Can you drive me at least to your house and I’ll probly be better by then and I’ll drive the rest of the way home?”
“But you’re a way better drunk-driver than me.”
“Please,” she says.
She must really be drunk; she never lets me drive her car.
She gets out of her car and goes around and hops in the passenger-side. I sidle behind the wheel with the beer in my hand.
I can’t remember which side the gas is on. Here goes nothing….