Connection Lost (iv)

The quitting hour came, and Alan went. He turned his back on campus and headed up Mass Ave at a gallop. He made it about two blocks before his fear of prospies was overtaken by his need to cleanse his palate thereof. He found himself in the Asgard along with about a billion other people, packed in like post-doctoral sardines and all of them swimming in chasers and chased. Halfway into Beer Number Zero Alan remembered that he’d left his laptop in his office. Two beers and a depth-charge later and he was ready to go back for it. He would snag his computer, T to Harvard Square, lock himself in his apartment, and thesis until sobriety came and dragged him off to bed.

He went off towards his office. This was somewhat complicated by the fact that the elevators were no longer running, likewise by his marked trouble with verticality. By the time Alan made it to his desk, the double shot of saffron vodka had settled on his brain like a pillow over the face of a sleeping mob witness. His ass bonded to the chair**, his eyelids bonded to one another, and Alan slipped most pleasantly to sleep.

** A common ethanol-catalyzed reaction, and not one known for producing much residual energy


~ by davekov on 29 October 2011.

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