The Birth of The Wino

Last night I’m at Sherry’s apartment checking out her photos that will go into the next issue of Needles for Teeth, she offers me a choice of two bottles of wine and not being the big consumer of wine I just point and grunt and then there’s half a glass of whatever I’d chosen in front of me. I sipped at the wine and didn’t get that usual bitter-tangy taste that comes with getting the cheap stuff. “This is really good wine, I love this stuff” she says. And after eating some pasta she gets into showing me her photos. Sherry couldn’t drink because she’s on antibiotics due to recent dental work. I finished off the glass pretty quickly soon after and she pours me another about half full (or was it half empty?) we lit cigarettes and continued digging photos of Yellow Stone and ruined apartments under construction. After about a half hour that glass was empty and she poured me another, a little more then half this time. And I realized after a couple of gulps that this was the best wine I’d ever had, it was the nectar of the gods of art and language, the sweet, sweet taste of life and love, it was a warm breeze in November after an afternoon rain, the cooing breath of a lover on your neck, it was magic, it was sex, it was fucking out of goddamn sight!
Soon I was very content and comfortable, my throat felt covered in molasses, and my speech didn’t slur more than it simply slowed. I noticed the tone of my voice slide lower and lower with each sip. I was in a momentary slow motion that I didn’t want to end. The slightly darkened apartment was illuminated in neon colors of blood red and blue ruin. Her cats ran around slowly it seemed, purring, fighting and jumping at heights as if they’d been to the same facility as the Six Million Dollar Man; the bionic sounds were optional, I chose them for aesthetic reasons. The glass empty again, I’d chosen about 10 photos by then, had about 8 cigarettes, and at least 4 visions. I had the thought of having more of this life affirming wine and more arrived as if my telepathy was working at 6 bars instead of 1. This is better than anything I’ve ever had in my life, I’ll be a dedicated Wino from here on out, to hell with beer, whiskey, whatever else. The wine is the way, the wine is the life. I will spend all money on this; I will waste no time in collecting bottles and strategically placing them through out my flat, to always have a bottle at arms reach no matter where I sit, even in the bathroom.
After another hour or so we’d gone through all of the photos, I’d ended up with about 20 total for distribution through out a few upcoming issues with option to see more as Sherry takes them. I finished off the last of the bottle of the great blood colored elixir.
“Sherry,” I said slowly, vociferously. “I drank all your wine, I’m sorry, it couldn’t be help.”
“Oh that’s okay sweety; it’s good, I’m glad you liked it.”

I left Sherry’s apartment at 1:30am and made my way home. I felt light and heavy while walking, and I didn’t have a coat, but the wine kept me warm. I now fully understand the power of good booze in wintertime. I didn’t feel any cold; it was nighttime spring for me.

This morning I awoke to the cats scrapping and yelling, wrecking up the place but it didn’t bother me in the least. I had no noticeable hangover, nothing lingering except the memory of the wine and the contentment. I was calm, euphoric. There was no regret of being awake and having to make the day job, no remorse at getting home as late as I did. Everything was good. And there was even a few cigarettes left in the pack to go with the morning coffee.

But now, I’ve come to realize that I never got the name of the wine, I can’t even remember what the label looks like.

I’ll have to call Sherry and get that information. But I still have to stick around the day job until my time here is done. I’m beginning to grow impatient; I’m starting to hate this place all over again.

I need to get out; I need to go to the liquor store. The life of The Wino awaits!