I guess the best I can remember is the part when I woke up and everyone was laughing and pointing at me. No one seemed to have understood the time warp I had just been through and there wasn't the slightest concern about my physical or mental wellbeing, after I had just passed out.
Took me a moment to realise I shouldn't be taking them the wrong way as they were still fucking loathed from the more than generous amounts of whiskey we'd been having moments ago up the hill on that lady's bar. Instead, I left them there by their stupid jokes and went closer to the shore where I sat by the water.
For whatever reasons beyond my understanding my mind was flooded with images of the book I'd been reading. It was about beatniks and hobos that traveled through North America in empty cargo trains, always moving from town to town. Kerouac, I think it was.
I sat there for what seemed hours and looked at the ravine, then at the sea, and in my mind I would hear the words from the damn book. Go figure.
(Wish I could remember them now)
This post was made for Day 1514: 5 Minute Freewrite, on #Freewriters:
@mariannewest/day-1514-5-minute-freewrite-monday-prompt-alcohol-related-incidents