There I was, leaning into the bar. Being ignored as usual. The barkeeps all knew me to look at me, but none of them ever bothered to ask me my name. It’s a bit of a clique over there at Bar Italia, between the bartenders and the regulars.

  It was about four o’clock in the afternoon, and I was meeting Jake at Saffron’s down the street for a late lunch, or early dinner. He didn't drink anymore, but I needed a quick one before meeting up, to try and fix this toothache problem I was having.

  “Three fingers of tequila.”

  Chris served it to me in a highball glass with lots of ice. He didn’t like me, but he knew I liked a lot of ice in a tall glass. Jerk. I paid him and tipped him fifty percent, because fuck him.

  I pounded back my drink, but the pain in my face did not subside. I ordered one more of the same, and pounded that too, and slapped another twenty on the bar. I was admittedly now drunk, but my face was still throbbing. If I had more I would puke, and I still needed to eat food. So I left.

  I went over to the patio at Saffron's, where I found Jake seated at a table, drinking a club soda with limes in it. We clasped hands as I joined him under the gold and blue Bombers umbrella.

  “Hey, man.”

  “How’ve you been?”

  “I’ve got a fucking toothache.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “Why don’t you go to a dentist?”

  “It’s Saturday evening. I’m fucked until Monday.”

  Just then the waitress showed up, “Hey! I’m Jen. How’s your weekend so far?”

  “Good, good.” I replied.

  “Here’s your menus. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “I’ll have an iced tea.”

  “You got it.” She said, then exited the patio.

  “You been doin’ lots of painting?” Jake asked me.

  “Yeah, I’m working on a new collection. I have a show booked for November. It’s my first solo show. The gallery owner wants twenty five pieces!”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right. I don’t think I’ve painted twenty five paintings in my life.”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Jen showed up with my tea.

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you need another moment with the menus?”

  “Actually, we haven't even looked yet,” Jake pointed out, “but I know what I’m going to get.”

  “Yeah, I do too. I’m just going to have a half Caesar salad and a side of fries. With honey dill sauce.”

  “And I’m going to have the BBQ burger, with fries and coleslaw.”

  “Sounds great. Let me get these.” She said as she took the menus back and then disappeared.

  “I’m sorry about the wedding.”

  “Me too... You know what happened. There’s not much to say.”

  “How are the cravings?”

  “Pretty much none, anymore. But I keep having these nightmares.”

  “Oh?”

  “I keep having dreams that I'm relapsing. And then I start freaking out because I relapsed. I don't know. I-I wake up in a panic, soaked in sweat. Every night.”

  “You’re afraid of relapsing.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Relapse is a normal part of recovery. It’s to be expected. When you go to bed at night, you need to have a talk with yourself, and tell yourself that it’s okay if you relapse. It’s not ideal, and you know that you don’t want to use it anymore, that it no longer has a place in your life. But you are just trying to heal, and it’s a process.”

  “I like that man, I’m going to try that. Thank you.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  After dinner we headed over to Bar Italia to shoot some pool, I bumped into Dwayne who was eating a roti and started talking to us about how Trump was actually the archangel Gabriel and how he was preordained to usher in the final days. You could tell Jake was embarrassed to be seen talking to this man. But I have a high tolerance for eccentric. After a few sodas and lime, and a couple vanilla Cokes, we called it a night. Jake walked back to his car and I walked home.

  I walked up to the back door of my building and put the key in the lock. I felt like slamming my fucking face against the wall, repeatedly. The pain in my jaw was actually ruining my life. I walked into my suite and bolted the door behind me. As I am accustomed to doing, when I arrive home around this time, I stripped down to my boxers.

  “What am I going to do about this tooth?”

  I happened to have a liter of red wine, so I dipped into that immediately. Then I rolled a joint with the last pinch of weed I had. That didn’t help either. Then I pulled out the Yellow Pages phone book, and searched for on-call dentists. I called the first one I found, but I got a voicemail. I tried one more and got the same result.

  “Fuck-me!” In a fury, I decided to take the matter into my own hands. I burst into the closet and rifled through my red metal tool box. I pulled out my needle nose pliers and a thin chisel. I headed to the bathroom sink. I opened wide and located the decayed molar. I stuck the pliers in there and grabbed the tooth, snug. In excruciating pain I pulled and yanked and the fucking tooth broke! “Agghh!! Fuck!”

  I spit in the sink. I grabbed the chisel and jammed it in there. I pried and groaned, and pried and failed. Jesus Christ, I just made it worse. The pain was now radiating throughout my face, and I was in agonizing pain.

  “Fuck it!” What I was about to do would have severe consequences. I was broke. I had just spent my last eighty dollars, and I wouldn’t be getting my next welfare check for two weeks. I had three hundred dollars in fifties that I owed Lindsey, that I was supposed to be paying her back with any day now. But this was an emergency. I was spitting blood.

  I took the three hundred dollars and called a taxi.

  “Take me to the nearest hospital.”

  I was breathing hard and fast in the back of the cab, for the entire ten minutes it took for him to drop me at the emergency room doors. The emergency room was vacant except for one other couple. The woman was in pain, and the man was there comforting her. I sped over to the triage and explained my situation. She told me to take a seat. I sat there rocking back and forth, stewing with pain and frustration. Until it was all too much for me to take and I approached the triage nurse again.

  “I am in immense pain. Is there anything you can give me?”

  “Just Tylenol.”

  “Tylenol? You mean the kind I can buy at 7/Eleven?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I streamlined my way out the emergency room doors, having no idea where I was. I had never stepped foot in that hospital before, but I knew it couldn’t be too far from home. I started walking down whatever street I was on, until I came upon some hole in the wall bar, and decided to deal with my pain the most sensible way. The joint was very small, but there was loud live music, and a bar.

  I ordered two shots of whisky and two beers. I threw back the shots, and chugged the first beer. I took my second beer and went and watched the band. I realized that I didn’t have my phone on me, and I had no idea what time it was. I finished my second beer. When I returned to the bar the bartender said last call, so I ordered four shots of whisky. It took about two minutes to work my way through all four, and then I left.

  I was feeling… drunk. And the pain from my tooth was almost gone. I wished I had some weed, but at least I had my cigarettes. I lit up a smoke and kept walking. I realized I was walking down Furby Street. A street known for its fatal violence. At that point I didn’t really give a fuck.

  My concern for my own safety was out the window and I was now on a mission to find some weed. I decided to perhaps explore the circus tent in that backyard there, with the green and purple lights and the loud music.

  There were a few people in the front yard, smoking cigarettes. A guy and two girls in their twenties, probably. I walked over politely and said, “Hey, sorry. Do you got any weed that I could buy off you?”

  “Yeah, I got some weed.” The guy said, “How much you lookin’ for?”

  “Just a joint. Do you have rolling papers? I’ll give you twenty dollars for a joint.”

  “We can roll a joint. Come with me.”

  The yard had an unusually tall wooden fence and a big gate with a trellis. I followed him through it into the back yard, under the circus tent, where I saw a half pipe and people skateboarding on it. There wasn’t too many people there, but there was an even mix of guys and women, and they all had drinks and cigarettes.

  The guy went up to a group of other guys on the deck and asked one of them for rolling papers, then he motioned for me to follow him. We went into the back lane, and sat down on a step under a light at the back of a building, next to a dumpster.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ryan.”

  “I’m Michael.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You’re not from around here are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “How’s your night been going?”

  “Well… a little over an hour ago, I tried to dig my tooth out of my face with a pair of pliers and a chisel.”

  “That’s hardcore.”

  “It didn’t work. So, I went to the emergency room and they said all they could do is give me Tylenol. So I found a bar and had eight drinks in thirty minutes and now I’m plastered.”

  “Does your tooth still hurt?”

  “What tooth?”

  Michael chuckled, as he lit up the joint.

  “Hey, man. Can I ask you something?” I proposed.

  “What chu need?”

  “I’m sorta lost.” He passed me the joint and I took a big toke, “If I gave you say, another twenty bucks, would you walk me to Osborne Village.

  “Yeah, man. I got your back.”

  I passed him the joint and lit up a cigarette.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You live in the village?”

  “Actually, I live on Corydon. But, I can find my way back from the village.”

  “Not a problem. Not a problem.” I traded him the cigarette for the joint, “I’ll be your bodyguard. I’m an affiliate.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m gonna be a Warrior… the gang.”

  “Oh! Cool.” I said, masking the fact that I was now incredibly uncomfortable. Yet, relieved in some way.

  “I’ll make sure you get where you’re going in one piece.”

  We started walking down the sidewalk, and I held out a twenty dollar bill, “Here.”

  He waved it off, “Don’t worry about it. Just keep passing smokes this way.”

  “Where are we?”

  “This is Furby.”