Taxi of drunks


Nobody wanted to get more fucked up than me. I got my dream job with an amazing organization.

When I got the gig — I knew I would be overworked and underpaid presumably  but neither of that to my despair, i just don’t really care. It was just the time when dad usually asked me whether i would make it with being alone, having a career and manning up one time.

It was a Friday, a great time to restore my settings back to the normal to that of intoxication and to satisfy and cover up for night of insomnia dreading the cold room. Maybe demons linger to give me company

 My words were slurred, i swayed uncontrollably exuberantly to the open road waiting for a taxi to  warrant  a smooth ride home.

A taxi pulled my way

The passenger who with me reeked of alcohol, overly friendly as she muddled how i am good looking . Her bag made the sound of bottles headlong against each other.

The driver was tailgating as closely followed the vehicle in front of us as his head drooped ebulliently speaking boorishly  lewdly to everyone.


Everyone had their stops. At every stop, I prayed that the air would carry us closer to the freedom of souls. I would release my fury to every drunk in the taxi and  would be cleansed from their sins

The driver would excuse himself to the bush as the looser replenish himself as he retched whatever cheap drink, local brew or kitoko he had.

I realized a drunk of a driver had taken longer routes as i skirmished on to my watch to check for the time.

Finally i reach home.

I callously doff as i survey my empty room. Damn to this headaches fatigue

Bed. Bed

“If getting drunk was how people forgot they were mortal, then hangovers were how they remembered.”


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