It's been a haze. Drink when I wake up. Stumble around. Fumbling for cigarettes. Where the bloody fuck is my train ticket? Why am I smoking pot with this Amy Winehouse broad? How'd I get to these islands? I haven't had a passport in years.
How'd I get back into New Orleans? How did I make it back? All of this to jump bail and skip another DUI conviction? To skip another turn at rehab? Why are these women wearing feathers? Not that I'm complaining...
What are these pills in my pocket? I take another one, just because I do not give a fuck about it anymore. It's all dark and sin and dive bars and finding crumbled napkins with phone numbers in my pocket. Sarah. Jessica. Abby. Elaine. I don't remember any of you.
Lipstick stains on my collar. I'm out of cigarettes again, lurching through the streets, carrying my bottle with me. Smelling like stale smoke, whiskey and some kind of cheap perfume. Mary, were you a stripper?
I found a switchblade in my boot and a book of matches from some dive bar. I get another pack of smokes and light one up with them. Lean against the wall. Take a hit from my bottle. Stagger home to tell you all where I've been...
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