Stories tagged drinking

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 15

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Steve Bancroft’s future wife showed up at his door that same night, slamming her hand loudly against the door and shouting for him. “Steve, Steve, wake up. Damn it, come on. You forgot to pick me up at the airport. Who are you in there with? I said wa

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 16

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There was all this pomp and circumstance. We were each outfitted with robes, red of course, and mortar-boards with a gold tassel dangling over one eye. It made me positively dizzy. Plus I was extremely hung-over that day.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 18

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We all ran out of the house into the communal garden without fences. There stood Von Rotten with a smoking rifle in his hands, and our mascot Digger lying on his side, limp. We all looked at each other in disbelief.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 19

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His wings were down when he got into the truck. It was a used UPS truck we’d bought from someone in Berkeley, and we painted out the letter “S,” so that it just read “UP.”

Cold Cash

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I drank a lot that summer because I just turned 21. I called him and we had what I thought was a long meaningful, important conversation. Later, he said I repeated how much I wanted to kiss him. I said I was embarrassed. One, because I said it. Two, becau

Captains of Industry

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Renee said, "I have actually slept with a number of Captains of Industry and would rate them, overall, deficient in skills."

Old man deodorant

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“I’m surprised you haven’t fucked yourself to death, too,” he added, “given your record.”

Prize Fight

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Silent as snow.

An Ode to Drinking (Or why I prefer drinking to writing)

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I prefer drinking to writing. Any sane person would.


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“Sure.” he said, the whiskey dripping down his stubbly chin.


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You stared at that girl, breathing in that sour milk smell knowing that was how you smelled too. Your clothes smelling of grilled cheese and bacon with a tasty whiff of Marlboros on top. What you wanted to see in that girl was friendship but what you saw

Meeting for a Drink

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But the profligate are blameless now Those who conflate sex and love the way dumber animals mistake heat for light have moved freely back to some primal zone where if I’m felt to be contradictory to the surroundings it’s because I wanted t


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He was drinking heavily again and complaining that there was nothing fresh worth writing about.


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Lost in the depths of my mind I become euphoric whilst my words lust paper A thought, one that foretells true inspiration Is swiftly buried amongst those that covet.

Sleeping Bag Whiskey

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indelicate, as everything arrives at once.