And this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home.

So, they sent the cops on us. The fucking cops. I know, several days of partying might ignite a couple of loose matches here and there. But the cops? Fuck you. First they ring once. If it were the cops they would say so. Twenty two seconds. Ring twice. The one with the higher moral ground of us opens the fucking door.

It was also so awful. Fucking Italian cops can just enter your place and search around with inquisitive eyes and fake interest. Like they’re gonna bust some twenty year olds with a truckload of cocaine, three accounts of murder and a raped kid. Instead they find several poorly dressed idiots, hearts beating, suspense curdling, panties wetting. A bit.

Two fucking pigs. In they come. IDs they demand. Turn the volume down a couple of notches they suggest. You don’t wanna see us here again they mutter. Like if it fucking means something to me. I came here to party, so just let me kill a couple of neurones, scream a couple of songs and shuffle a couple of chairs around while I intoxicate myself.

There’s a tall pig and a not so tall one. The taller does all the talking, the shorter one does all the nodding. You understand Italian? Not so much. Keep it down from 11PM. Let’s try to be civilised over here. We produce the IDs. We are civilised. What do you Study? Math. They look around and repeat themselves. Yes, we will keep quiet. Yes, we will pretend we’re listening to your piggy snouts. Yes, your boots look great.

They seem to be bored of offering peace-keeping-advice and we pretend to be satiated with promises of well behaving. Then, they’re about to leave. They’re this close to closing the door. And then this other idiot appears. He sees two slender figures cladded in the unequivocal blue with a red stripe down their flanks, and this idiot just fucking freezes. Like he just saw god. Or Elvis Presley. Or me fucking his mom. He freezes and some of us move our heads in a get-the-fuck-out-of-here manner. You know. Diagonally from lower left to upper right. In a dismissive manner. Trying to hide it from the cops, trying to get a fucking message across.

But this stupefied piece of meat is pegged to the floor and just stands there like his grey pijamas are gonna somehow blend him into the not so pearly white walls. This awful matching light grey sweatpants and sweater. Like the Autism Army left behind their uniform and he was just around there to pick it up. Yes I live here as well. ID? Yes. The only Italian in the fucking house. 

They ask several questions I don’t understand, and I start wondering when I get to resume my drinking. I’m not getting drunk today. Oh no. Getting-drunk-with-beer days are over. Today I just drink because I have to.

After a couple of minutes or centuries they leave. We retell the story between us like we won the world cup and we all go back to our rooms to forget what just happened and to numb our mind with some bullshit activity; like writing what just fucking happened.

Don't fly too close to the sun

I have popped three pills today. This tab of acid sounds like a great idea. That last joint really kicked up my energy. I can hear the music outside of the toilet. The loud repetitive bass line makes me think I’m stuck in a loop. Not this trip again. My reckless intake of forbidden substances turns me into a gormless meat puppet.

When I come out, there is a girl with a short red dress. Her look invites me to eat her. Her closed eyes beg me to spread her legs. But I’m shy. With this much ecstasy in my system, I probably couldn’t even get it up anyways.

I go to the bar, order an overpriced beer, and revise my decisions. I easily lose the train of thought and remember my father’s words before going out today. “Don’t get fucked up today. Don’t fly to close to the sun”. Then he sticks his hand in his pocket and gives me an orange pill container with enough MDMA to rave up a funeral. My brain is overclocked. Thoughts flash parallel, in a constant stream of irrational impressions. These pills taste like wax. I kinda dig this new club. How am I supposed to sell this shit while I can’t even put two and two together. Is the effect wearing off? I can’t come down now. I forgot to feed the cat. I need another pill.

The big purple letters over the bar announce the place’s name. “Labyrinth” they scream at you. The L starts melting and I notice my hands are a bit heavier than normal. I haven’t had any water. Past me would kill me if he saw how irresponsible I’m being. Future me would… would… Will there be a future me?

Why would you name your beer Sun. These microbreweries are getting out of control. I start sweating but I’m not hot. I take a sip and I can almost taste how the hoppy beer dissolves my newly acquired way of escaping this place. I start shaking but I am not scared. Or am I? I start laughing but I’m not happy. I think those two last pills were a bit excessive. I close my eyes and I see myself flying over a green field. I spread my wings and let the sun warm up my body. I am very hot. I wonder what would happen if I pop another one. Leave some for tomorrow. I soar up into the sky and I feel how I’m getting higher and higher. I pass out.

I’m at a hospital. Last thing I hear is my father calling my name in tears. “Icarus” he sobs. I die.