One Night Holiday

Shit, Another night alone. What made this one worse was the fact that This happened to be New Years Eve, December thirty fucking first, and I'm sitting on this torn up couch watching Dick Clark count the minutes until he needs to color his hair a shade darker. Yeah I was wallowing. But who gives a damn for a guy like me. I may be all alone but I'm not lonely. Okay, you got me, I'm a little lonely. Every once in awhile I'd get up walk around, look outside, get depressed, sit back down, rinse and repeat. While I was doing this regular rotation every 15 minutes till the ball dropped (I consider this my version of the ball drop) I caught myself in the mirror's reflection. There I was, even more pathetic that my mind thought. There stood a man with spottier facial hair that a 14 year old boy.
"How did I come to this?"
I questioned the mirror. No response. Was I expecting one?
It was all I could take so I grabbed my coat as I left the front door unlocked and strolled down the hallway with a bit of a kick in my step. I was a true bastard, sure I was lonely as hell, not to mention pathetic, but as soon as I left the sanction of my apartment I HAD to act happier than them. Who are they? Well you should know, you're one of them. "the huddled masses" as that statue puts it so eloquently. I guess its just some superiority complex I have in me. But it did something, because by the time i reached the elevator I was actually forgetting who I was. Now I was Prince Von Groof. A man who immigrated to the states in the summer of '87. Leaving his people to wait for him in a quiet cheer and pray that his return as a King would be a safe one. While I left in a protest for my father to die quicker, it seemed he had managed to live longer without my presence and now at the ripe old age of 136, decided to die. So I'm preparing my bags to return as King at the younger age of 87. Or so the woman in the elevator next to me had believed.
"You look good for 87"
she shoved into the middle of my autobiography.
"I know, people tell me I look at least 63".
I enjoyed it, you know. Making fun of myself. "What is the country you reign supreme again?" she seemed very interested, in fact she would've leaned in to hear the answer if I hadn't smelled like turpentine and bags of saw dust.
"Provackia of course, It's a little island off the coast of Chernobyl. Yes I know what your thinking 'I thought Chernobyl had that nuclear explosion, blah blah blah' well it did, and Our island prospered from it, it seems that green carrots do taste better that regular blue carrots."
Now I have to stop myself, the only thing I know about Chernobyl is a vague statement made by my history teacher in high school 20 something years ago. I think some times I create lies so grand that I hope that the person stops me and says "Your a dirty liar mister Gurgam" and sock me one in the face. Of course I'd probably just fall to the ground and cry for my mother, I mean lawyer. My mother wishes she was a lawyer. It was a sad time for her when she learned a high school drop out degree wont exactly help you bring in the clients. So she turned tricks instead. Yep, she was the best whore magician ever, But a lousy mother. Good for 18 year old birthday parties though. The other mothers got upset though when she did my 7th birthday party. Let me just tell you she did a great trick with pulling the rabbit out of her- what? Stop? Okay.
So As I finished the ride in the elevator from the 79th floor to the 1st, I said goodbye to the lady and strolled through the lobby, the gold columns shimmered as I waved and smiled to the doorman, he was a stoutly man around the same age as myself. He had envious eyes for everything about me, oddly enough he was a bearded gentleman which helped cover the scars and grease on his face. It disgusted me when he drew himself closer, I had a small heart attack with the belief that he wanted to shake my hand, I let out a sigh of relief when all he did was open the door for me.
"Doing your job I see"
I let out the weakest chuckle I've ever heard. When I thought I was in the clear, he patted me on the back and I could literally feel the grease seep into my coat. I shuttered and when I realized he was still behind me I said
"This cold gets to ya".
He just looked quizzical as he closed the door on my nose. Ass hole, no sorry, Greasy Ass hole. So I stumbled outside. Full of sloppy drunks, I myself don't drink, I need as much control as I can get. Control of anything. Which is why I lie so much, I need control of that situation, I must be able to choose how that person feels. It's not sick. A lot of people do it, I just admit to it. I call them truth excursions. What do you know anyway, I could be a king. Yeah I am a King.
So as I took my horse out to the bar to get a whiff at the few locals I found myself dying of boredom. Once again I found myself lying up a storm with a some 1,000 year old gas bag. Seriously euthanasia is not a bad idea at all. Infact I just wish someone would come and wipe out every single old person above the age of 50. Sure that means little Timmy gets one less birthday card, but at least there's less old people smell, and hey, the people at the funeral homes have to love my idea. As I was closing up my conversation with Senior Gas Bag, some guy taps my shoulder. As I'm about to knock him out he gives me a huge hug. Another drunk one. He calls me Greg. So of course I remember him. He asks me how the kids are. I tell him
"dead".
So he buys me a drink. He asks me if I remember his girlfriend from high school, I tell him I slept with her. So as he is about to give me a beating outside the bar I tell him that old Greg is sorry. So without any thanks, I took Greg's beating for him. Really, I should win man of the year for shit like that. Although the guy did just lose his kids, so I guess I could do something for him.
As I picked myself up I realized that I have no reason to be lonely, I get to be with the best of the bend...ME! So I'm not alone, infact I'm the real winner. Besides it's new years, Honey Mooner's marathon is on.