OD Voyeur

One eyelid was drooping down as the other one stayed propped open on top of her eyeball. Her words coming out, but as the moments wore on, the syllables got slurrier. Her tongue was in the way, and as I tried to discern the exact level of her drunkenness, it didn’t occur to me until later that the rapidity with which she shut down was indicative not merely of alcohol intoxication, but something else. Something more sinister, which, on a Monday night, wasn’t the first thing on my mind as chatted intermittently. It was when I saw her head go crashing down onto her arms in some simulation of momentary sleep that I realized – what the fuck is going on. A few glasses of wine over a few hours, and this was happening? My stomach started lurching. The display was beginning as someone shook her awake only to have the grandness of inebriation on pills and liquor unfold unquietly in this rather upscale bar in Downtown. Her mind was slowly slipping away under the weight of pills and liquor, too many downers and not enough uppers, and she sat belligerently in the back of a cab while someone tried to discern her address, which she staunchly refused to surrender, although who knows if that was symptomatic of her downer concoction or some innate brattiness instead. Trainwrecking back and forth across the bar as someone dragged her back in and sat her at the table, where she glamorously slumped over in some motor unskilled display of messiness and glory. Is she going to piss her pants? Or should she get her stomach pumped?