night train

it all started when i decided that taking the bus was for losers.
no actually. it all started at Catou's private Kareoke birthday jam.
which was lovely; babes, tunes, booze... the Triforce of Good Times aligned perfectly with our latitude, making the party an absolute success.
the only snag was that the proprietors of Private Room Kareoke Bar did not allow any outside liquor, which we smuggled in by the fuckload.
so, when things began to wind down a touch, i offered up my now empty backpack as a means to de-smuggle the empties and avoid tarnishing our good name.
and let me tell you, this sucker was stuffed. almost un-zip-up-ably so.
leave no trace.
and since empties are pretty light in the weight department; compounded with the fact that i was hosting a healthy level of drunkeness; i hardly even noticed i was trucking around a bundle of stinking, dripping beer husks.
and if i did realize, i almost certainly and immediately forgot.
and that was that.
party over.
get a quick bite with a friendly gal from the party, walk her to the bus depot and try to figure how to get home from this area that i'm entirely unfamiliar with.
it was then, while trying to decipher the matrix of tiny lines and numbers that passes for a bus schedule in this town, that i decided taking the bus was for losers.
it's a nice night, i'll just walk until i see a Metro sign and catch the next train.
finding a station didn't take long, but waiting for the first train of the morning would take some time, since time was just creeping upon 5am.
so, like any good transient drunkard would, i splayed myself across the subway bench and promptly fell unconscious.
i'm not sure how many trains flew past me before i roused up, but i caught one which was mostly empty and again passed out across a couple of seats.
then, after an unknown measurement of negative time, i was awakened by a fellow passenger who noticed i was partially on the floor, sliding corpse-like off the seats, probably because of the awkward girth of my festering booze sack.
i muttered some bestial noises, righted myself as best i could given the situation, and once again comatized under the weight of a long night of alcohol abuse.
when i woke up the next time, i realized i was but a handful of stops away from the easternmost part of the island. i'd hazily drifted across the entirety of urban Montreal an was now impossibly far from home.
this discovery gave me the jolt of energy i needed to sprint off the train and switch directions.
of course, this jolt of energy dissipated the moment i sat on the station floor and passed out yet again.
somehow woke up and got on the right direction, only to discover i was still traveling east, which would mean that when i originally disboarded i wasn't "heading" east, i was "coming back" from east because i had snored and drooled right through the End Of The Line.
i wanted so badly to not be wasted and be home or be able to get home sensibly but the shithammer in my head was unrelenting.
another switch.
another coma.
another wake up call from a kindly stranger.
(it was around this time i realized that most of these early-morning-go-to-work type passengers probably thought i was a street punk, what with my being right out of 'er and my clothes with food on them and my backpack full of empty bottles and cans.)
transfer station.
another wee nap.
another train full of disapproving glares from odor sensitive suit dummies.
when i finally arrived at Mont Royal station i was rudely greeted by the atomically bright sunshine gleaming down onto the escalator.
it's tricky to know when it's morning when you're whizzing around underground and asleep and too liquored to read your watch correctly anyway.
trudge.
squint.
stagger.
stairs.
keys.
home.
sleep.
death sleep.
real sleep.
i was mighty tuckered for a chap who spent most of the past three hours with his eyes closed.
it's night again.
think i'm going to stay local this evening.
lather.
rinse.
repeat.