Already had a few beers, walking around, placing out some zines, it was early. I thought I'd drop the last few at this bar, have a beer or two, then go home. I ran into an acquaintance, Kerri, at the bar. She was with two friends. A plan came about to go to a restaurant. Someone worked there or knew someone who worked there or something...there was talk of free drinks. We walked to the restaurant but it was closing. We continued walking, one of the group leading us to a parking garage, I don't know why. On the way we stopped to stare at a message board hung up along Broad street. Phrases took turns lighting up the board. Some made sense, others made little sense. Whoever we were supposed to meet at the parking garage wasn't there. We kept going.

Someone hailed a cab and we took it to a diner. I'd never taken a cab in Philadelphia--I thought everything was within walking distance. We ate and drank more. Took another cab to the river. Scott, the leader, kept hailing us these cabs. Again, I didn't know why we were going to the river. We walked out to a pier on the Delaware river, parallel to a huge pier developed into apartments near Penn's landing, Camden, New Jersey across the river. Scott had a boat moored there, turned out he lived on it. A few others lived on their boats there too. We got on the boat and Scott put on some reggae, which must have been a greatest hits record because I knew every song and I never listen to reggae. He pulled out more beers out for us from down in the boat. Some conversation, sitting on fold-out chairs, a warm night--peaceful. The beers were Yeungling Lager, brewed out in Pennsylvania's coal region; with this, on the morning after a big one, your head feels like a piece of coal. I should have known better.

It was getting late and Kerri was really loaded. She went down below to go to sleep. The rest of us were convinced by Scott that we should go to an after-hours club nearby. Scott had a real western feel about him. I would have guessed he was from Arizona but I don't think that was true. We walked to the club and stood in line. The other guy, Jim, decided to call it a night and left before going in. Scott and I stayed, got frisked, went in, stood around having a few beers and looking at the people, at the girls. Everyone was looking and acting slick. No class. I hate these places.

I had too much beer. Felt sloshed. We left the club and walked back to the boat. I stretched out on a cot on the rear deck. There was a canvas cover on the back of the boat and the sides were open to a clear night. It felt great to lie there in the warm air, looking out at the sky, the boat rocking a little. I passed out immediately.

The next morning, everyone bleary-eyed. We knew we had too much. Putting shoes back on, barely speaking, sitting there on the deck, squinting. Kerri and I stumbled back into town, I said good-bye and got on a bus. I got off, walked to the train, dizzy like a bum. Took the train home and went straight to my room, laid down in the bed. The walking had kept the worst of the hangover suppressed. Now, lying still, my head started to rock back and forth, to swim, the room moving in waves, Jesus Christ.

My head, my stomach.

Damn that boat, damn that shitty beer.

Pain.

I spent the entire day in bed.

 

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