Restructured to make a little more sense.  Still haven't gone chronological, though.  Everything that has been added in this iteration of the compendium has (new) next to it.  Six (new)'s under non-fiction and five (new)'s under other.  So, eleven entries worth putting on the revised compendium.  The last time I did one of these was about this time last year.  Not a good sign.

Non-fiction Stories(with no organization whatsoever):
(new)You're Creepy, Hunter - A girl tells me I am creepy.  I get even.

(new)Phoenix - I don't think I am supposed to write about something that is supposed to be anonymous.  Oh well.

(new)Strange Format - Saturday Show   -  Seriously the strangest format or lack thereof I have ever used.  Almost like a poem.  I've bad luck and things get out of hand.

(new)Graham's 21st Birthday - "No, dude, we're walking home.  It's like two blocks."

(new)Dead Cicada - A woman is assaulted while holding her child.  I intercede.

(new)A Warning - First Friday's in Richmond!

Salvia Gets Too Real - Fourth and worst trip on Salvia.

The Most Puke I Have Ever Seen - Imagine this next scene.  Try to visualize it with me.  My eyes open to the ceiling, my body shocked out of deep REM sleep.  My legs and waist are moist. . .

Drunk People - An interesting twist-- I'm not drunk in this story. For once in my life.

Black and Mild - I'll miss drinking with friends on top of the roof at my old apartment.  I will miss that Mediterranean market, with its natural soaps and cheap spices.  I will miss all those families who called the cops on me when I played music too loud on Monday nights.  Ahh

Hunter Takes it to the Limit, Throws Up Everywhere - In The Top Five Drunkest Nights

Pissing in Pools I & II - My double standard on people who pee in pools.

A Retelling of the First Time I Smoked

A Trip To Walmart - Seriously one of the best destinations while high.  Interesting, entertaining, sometimes a little creepy.

To Move My Body - When reality sinks in, when you think you've got nothing, you become psychic, telepathic, and shameless. This story has procession of Segways!

The Things I Remember - I somehow wake up at 2PM in my dorm, still drunk from the night before.  A rough bus ride does me in.

Hunter Blacks Out, Goes To Patient First, Blames Free Beer - Pretty self explanatory.

A Tucker Emulation, It Seems - The very first story I wrote.

Handcuffed, Robbed, and 6 O'clock Rush - Pretty self-explanatory.  Breakfast club.

Hunter Gets High, Driving Barely Ensues - I get high, and drive.  Sort of.

Lebanese: A "Nice Guy" Failure - Nine Guys, One Girl.  I get the girl and ride off into the sunset(upstairs), but turn out to be a "nice guy."

JMU, PART I - The first and, since, only time I have been breathalyzed.  There is no part II.  Part II would be better though, as it includes doing mushrooms, a starving French guy, five plus parties, nearly getting run over, really drunk chicks with australian accents, and BLOODHOUNDS.  But this story has none of that.

THE WEEKEND - A three day bender, with a decadent interlude of cheating debauchery.  All set to the soundtrack of the very trite Garden State. 

Bloody in '08 - A New Year story, complete with someone who attempts to smash a full, unopened champagne bottle over his head.

Perfect Night Ruined by Marriot, Morning -- This story is far too long to hold your attention.  Do not read it.

Short(or long) Stories(Fiction):

Saint Dympna - My favorite.

The Sink at Sunset - Guy has mobile home of a heart.  This is life at 20.

Shells - My drug induced interpretation of the scramble suits in A Scanner Darkly caused this short.  Later turned into a short fiction piece (for a class) called Mise en Place or The Writer.

Nine-Tenths is Nothing - Our children are here to replace us.  One man attempts to slow this process by proving he is better than them and protecting his wife from kid perverts. 

The Last Boat to the Disappearing - A seven vignette fiction piece about flaming zombies.  As much as I wish I had written them gay, they are actually on fire.

Story Starter Exercise - A brief story about a friend who got kicked up and did a lot of drugs while living in the woods.
 

Other:
(new)At The Edge of The Neighborhood - Vivid zombie dream.

(new)Shut Down or Reset - Up late? Two options.  Special bonus feature: scene from this year's Best Friends Day @ Hadad's

(new)A Haiku - About a day I spent at the river getting drunk with someone I didn't know.  She was taken and I fell and cut myself on a rock.  Then there is a sexual allegory at the end.  There, I ruined it.

(new)My First Near-Ticket on a Bicycle

(new)Autumn - The Greatest and Best Time of Year

Can Blood Cells Have Car Accidents? - Thoughts after the fire.

Janus - Girl cheats on me.  Girl dies in short story Sink at Sunset.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part I  -- I test my voice recorder during a toking session.  Heavy on the dialogue.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part II -- The better half of the overall recording experience.  A lot of in depth high conversation. 

Friend's Mom Finds Out About Hunter's Livejournal, Missiles Fly - Probably one of the more significant events in the history of my online writing.

Under a Hot Chicago Sun - I didn't even know my neighbors name.

H-D-P-E Does Not Spell "Hope"  -  Recycling is hopeful.  I am not.

It Is Only Hubris If I Fail - Childhood with a heavy dose of failure, sprinkled with Sloane Crosley.

Sick Dream D.A.N.C.E. - Dreams are fun.  Dreams about partying and religious fanatics that all have the same face... strange.  Sick dreams are most disturbing.

Rape, Tacos, and Love - I get raped, noticed for my writing at a party, have sex for the first time high, eat really good tacos, and listen in on a nasty girl shit.

Tainted Elephant Oil Prices Dowsed in Sickly-Sweat-Stained Dreams - More sick dreams, musings on family life and relationships.

Zombie Christ Day

Metal Shows - Are awesome.  Especially when you know the band.  Even if it's at a lame venue. 

Derelict Father, Are We the Cause of Our Suffering?

Shit's Run Its Course - I inherit a bike from a metal head who stole it from a crack head.

The Bear, The Bee, The Rhino - I connect with mother nature, understand things I never thought possible.

Night Luck - I have only gotten in trouble with the law when sober.  Sobriety really takes the spine out of me.

Condom Debacle - A young Hunter hides a partially used condom in duct-tape.

Jesus Freaks - I lament about my hatred for street-preachers.  This is a Facebook classic.

Bloody Knuckles - It wasn't a game that gave me these.

Diphenhydramine - The first time I ever tripped on a deliriant.

Bulgarians are Hardcore - Intoxicated 5 times the lethal limit, this Bulgarian gets hit by a car and sent to the hospital for minor head trauma.

A Little Funny and The Encroaching

Sunchips? - Do you know why they call them sunchips?

LIRICKES -  The funniest rap "lirickes" you'll read all week.

The Binary Universe and How Choice Works  -  With diagrams and shit.

Poems - A little too sing-songy.

Soundscape - High times.

The Nature of Souls and Soulmates - Got a decent response for this one.

Scanner Darkly and the Universe as a Vague Set of Prepositions

Demon Play, Demon Out - Your shoes are not an extension of anything that matters to your person.

Clocked Out - A New Year - 2007.  Some things get better, other things are mentioned less.

New - I miss writing.

This is a collection of things I have written that I think are at least half worth putting back up.  Since last I did one of these, I have added two short stories and maybe ten other forms of writing.  With 19 solid "Stories,"  7 short fiction pieces, and over 25 others, I would like to think that what I do for enjoyment is steadily becoming something I could do for money.  Years down the road, that is.  Enjoy.

STORIES(with no organization whatsoever):
Salvia Gets Too Real - Fourth and worst trip on Salvia.

The Most Puke I Have Ever Seen - Imagine this next scene.  Try to visualize it with me.  My eyes open to the ceiling, my body shocked out of deep REM sleep.  My legs and waist are moist. . .

Perfect Night Ruined by Marriot, Morning -- It turns out that drinking in the dorms is a bad plan.  But, for me, I have a great night, only to have it ruined by a morning hangover and the loss of my license. 

Hunter Takes it to the Limit, Throws Up Everywhere - In The Top Five Drunkest Nights

JMU, PART I - The first and, since, only time I have been breathalyzed.  There is no part II.  Part II would be better though, as it includes doing mushrooms, a starving French guy, five plus parties, nearly getting run over, really drunk chicks with australian accents, and BLOODHOUNDS.  But this story has none of that.

Pissing in Pools I & II - My double standard on people who pee in pools.

To Move My Body - When reality sinks in, when you think you've got nothing, you become psychic, telepathic, and shameless. This story has procession of Segways!

Hunter Blacks Out, Goes To Patient First, Blames Free Beer - Pretty self explanatory.

Drunk People - An interesting twist-- I'm not drunk in this story. For once in my life.

A Tucker Emulation, It Seems - The very first story I wrote.

The Things I Remember - I somehow wake up at 2PM in my dorm, still drunk from the night before.  A rough bus ride does me in.

Handcuffed, Robbed, and 6 O'clock Rush - Pretty self-explanatory.  Breakfast club.

Hunter Gets High, Driving Barely Ensues - I get high, and drive.  Sort of.

Lebanese: A "Nice Guy" Failure - Nine Guys, One Girl.  I get the girl and ride off into the sunset(upstairs), but turn out to be a "nice guy."

A Trip To Walmart - Seriously one of the best destinations while high.  Interesting, entertaining, sometimes a little creepy.

A Retelling of the First Time I Smoked

THE WEEKEND - A three day bender, with a decadent interlude of cheating debauchery.  All set to the soundtrack of the very trite Garden State. 

Rape, Tacos, and Love - I get raped, noticed for my writing at a party, have sex for the first time high, eat really good tacos, and listen in on a nasty girl shit.

Bloody in '08 - A New Year story, complete with someone who attempts to smash a full, unopened champagne bottle over his head.

Short(or long) Stories(Fiction):

Nine-Tenths is Nothing - Our children are here to replace us.  One man attempts to slow this process by proving he is better than them and protecting his wife from kid perverts. 

Saint Dympna - My favorite.

The Sink at Sunset - Guy has mobile home of a heart.  This is life at 20.

Shells - My drug induced interpretation of the scramble suits in A Scanner Darkly caused this short.  Later turned into a short fiction piece (for a class) called Mise en Place or The Writer.

The Last Boat to the Disappearing - A seven vignette fiction piece about flaming zombies.  As much as I wish I had written them gay, they are actually on fire.

Solipsism - A creation story.  A story with Robots and Gods and space battles.  A story with a twist.  A story that kind of sucks, but has novelty.

Story Starter Exercise - A brief story about a friend who got kicked up and did a lot of drugs while living in the woods.
 

Some others:

Can Blood Cells Have Car Accidents? - Thoughts after the fire.

Janus - Girl cheats on me.  Girl dies in short story Sink at Sunset.

Black and Mild - I'll miss drinking with friends on top of the roof at my old apartment.  I will miss that Mediterranean market, with its natural soaps and cheap spices.  I will miss all those families who called the cops on me when I played music too loud on Monday nights.  Ahh

Under a Hot Chicago Sun - I didn't even know my neighbors name.

H-D-P-E Does Not Spell "Hope"  -  Recycling is hopeful.  I am not.

It Is Only Hubris If I Fail - Childhood with a heavy dose of failure, sprinkled with Sloane Crosley.

Sick Dream D.A.N.C.E. - Dreams are fun.  Dreams about partying and religious fanatics that all have the same face... strange.  Sick dreams are most disturbing.

Tainted Elephant Oil Prices Dowsed in Sickly-Sweat-Stained Dreams - More sick dreams, musings on family life and relationships.

Zombie Christ Day

Metal Shows - Are awesome.  Especially when you know the band.  Even if it's at a lame venue. 

Derelict Father, Are We the Cause of Our Suffering?

Shit's Run Its Course - I inherit a bike from a metal head who stole it from a crack head.

The Bear, The Bee, The Rhino - I connect with mother nature, understand things I never thought possible.

Night Luck - I have only gotten in trouble with the law when sober.  Sobriety really takes the spine out of me.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part I  -- I test my voice recorder during a toking session.  Heavy on the dialogue.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part II -- The better half of the overall recording experience.  A lot of in depth high conversation. 

Friend's Mom Finds Out About Hunter's Livejournal, Missiles Fly - Probably one of the more significant events in the history of my online writing.

Jesus Freaks - I lament about my hatred for street-preachers.  This is a Facebook classic.

Bloody Knuckles - It wasn't a game that gave me these.

Diphenhydramine - The first time I ever tripped on a deliriant.

Bulgarians are Hardcore - Intoxicated 5 times the lethal limit, this Bulgarian gets hit by a car and sent to the hospital for minor head trauma.

A Little Funny and The Encroaching

Sunchips? - Do you know why they call them sunchips?

LIRICKES -  The funniest rap "lirickes" you'll read all week.

The Binary Universe and How Choice Works  -  With diagrams and shit.

Poems - A little too sing-songy.

Soundscape - High times.

The Nature of Souls and Soulmates - Got a decent response for this one.

Condom Debacle - A young Hunter hides a partially used condom in duct-tape.

Scanner Darkly and the Universe as a Vague Set of Prepositions

Demon Play, Demon Out - Your shoes are not an extension of anything that matters to your person.

Clocked Out - A New Year - 2007.  Some things get better, other things are mentioned less.

New - I miss writing.

    Here's an example of a sick dream.  This is one of those dreams where music and odor is as vivid as real life. 

    There's this huge party and everyone is wasted, except me, because I am dying from pneumonia.  But apparently I can host it.  It is at my apartment and all of the lights are on.  I get the distinct feeling my apartment is much larger than usual--hundreds are in attendance.  I abandon my apartment for another, better party.  As I leave, some guy asks me if he can have a beer.  There is only one left, I tell him.  We'll decide when I get back.  I don't come back until the end of the dream, hours later in dream-time.  This action has the single biggest impact on the outcome of the dream. 

    I am at a dance party now.  The second hand smoke in my lungs is killing me.  In the background I hear Justice's "D.A.N.C.E," and I follow its instructions and "do the dance" with my friend Brittany.  We are the genesis of dance.  Everyone gathers round to join in.  The floorboards creak and fatigue under our combined weight.  My friend Jeff saunters up to deliver a half smoked joint.  I say, What the hell, and take a puff.  As soon as I do this, everyone is gathering at the door, looking out into this field between buildings.  COPS! someone says.  It spreads from one side of the room to the other like a knife pressing cream cheese into a toasted bagel.  Unless you suck at it, like myself, and have to reapply cream cheese every 30 degrees. Soon everyone is at a door or window, gazing, glazed.
    The foremost onlooker at the front door says, "I don't know what to do, if I leave, they'll get me.  If I stay, they'll get me."  I take charge and open the door.  The field is green, even with the sky blanketed.  This must be somewhere on Grace or Monument, the field reminds me of that field behind Stuart Court Apartments.  It seems legit, like everything else in the dream so far, so I don't question its reality.  For some reason, I don't question the next three scenes either, and it takes the final one to really break the dream.
    I walk through the field as identical old lady tenants snap photos of the crowd with DIY Ascoflex cameras from the 50's.  I cover my face, pretending to yawn.  Whatever they're getting a record of our faces for, I want nothing of it.  I walk past the second old lady, and notice that, now, all of them don nun's outfits.  This is odd, but I resume thinking how, even if they get my face, I'll just instantly grow a huge beard to protect myself from identification.  Yes, and I'll dye my hair and get brown contacts. 

What am I worried about, I haven't been drinking.

    I make my way down the street, where I see a girl unlocking her bike.  She notices the huge crowd behind me and I turn to look.  The crowd is massive, and I notice, yes, that is Stuart Court Apartments.  But we're in front of a house in the woods.  That could make sense one day. 
    The girl mounts a golden bike and asks if it's the VCU crowd.  I say yes, and she rides away.  I yell after her, Where do you go to school?!  I don't remember her response.  She sails across the street and disengages her machine, unwrapping the chain.  I ask, "You rode your bike across the street?"
"I had a long way to go, before."  This answer satisfies me and I leave to go to Gary's apartment, which, sadly, he doesn't own. 

    I get there and wait in a shadowy alleyway watching shadowy figures, when Brittany appears.  We sit and wait, idle and not speaking. Except when a dark figure passes, and I say, "Ready. . ." like I am preparing for something, hand on some mental or imaginary weapon. Eventually Gary opens his door and we enter.  His apartment building is set up to resemble a maze of suspended, carpeted beams.  Everything is white, and between the beams are large gaps which lead to plummet, death.  We hop skippity along them, and I inform Gary that some Mayan Aliens must have constructed this Temple of Doom.  That or Escher.  We get inside and I fall asleep.

    The next thing I know there is pounding on my door.  My father enters my bedroom, the one I am sleeping in during the dream, and says, "Hunter!"  He is yelling at me, angry like I've never seen him.  "HUNTER GET YOUR ASS UP!  WHAT DID YOU DO, WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?"  I just had a few people over you know.  And abandoned them to their own desires.  "HAVING SEX ON THE FLOOR IS UNSAFE, YOU'LL CATCH A GODDAMN DISEASE!"  What?  Sex on the floor?  Dad, I haven't had sex, what're you talking about.  "You need to clean the kitchen up.  NOW." 
    I struggle with the sheets and fight back the weariness of a party night, and roll out of bed.  I walk down the hall to the kitchen in what seems like one of those never ending flash images.  It takes a couple of runs to see everything, but I only get one.  My dad is at the end of the hall, pointing into the kitchen, "It smells like shit." 
    Imagine a horror scene in which there is something horrible around the corner, and you get that first-person POV, slowly rounding the corner, the music slowly building to crescendo.
    Entering my field of view is what looks like blood smeared all over the refrigerator, then the floor.  Blood splat, tints of orange.  I sniff and am knocked back.  I have never smelled anything like this, in dream or otherwise. 
    Who does my dad think I am, having sex that creates this?  Who does my dad think he is smelling things?  He was born without the sense of scents!  Wait, I say in my dream.  My dad can't smell. 

And I wake up, having broken the dream state game. 

    A couple of weeks ago, my friend Gary has a party at his place, and it's pretty awesome until I downed a Jagerbomb and smoked a spliff.  I had been dry for a whole month before this party, and I took it to my low tolerance's limit.  When I left Gary's, there was no time to peace out.  My girlfriend, Lenora, led me to a bedroom where we sat and slurred our speech for a couple of minutes before I bolted out of the room and marched through the front door. 

    The first wave of puke rises and shoots from my mouth as I step off the stoop into the lawn.  I take several steps and puke on a tree.  Before I hit asphalt, I puke a third time.  I am fertilizing his yard with vomit.  I stagger to Lenora's red Honda and blow chunks right in front of it.  After puking four times, you would think you'd feel better.  I didn't.  This tells me that I am going to throw up more.  After about five minutes, Lenora comes out of the house, no doubt tromping through the fields of my regurgitation.  She steps around the fourth puddle in front of her car and sits next to me on the curb, swaying a little.

    At some point we hop in her car and roll out.  By hop, I kind of mean fall.  I don't remember much of the night, but I remember making Jeff(Horatio of old) promise me something. 
My hand on his shoulder, I look him straight in the eyes, and implore him to, "Promise me.  Promise me you will never drive drunk.  Man, you could die!"
He promises and Lenora adds that I made her make the same promise a long time ago.
I don't remember much of this night, but I remember this.  And I remember, while we are driving back, Lenora saying, "Hunter, I just want you to know," as if it was a good time to tell me, "that I am breaking my promise to you right now.  I just want you to know.  I have to get you home."  I get the impression that we might die.  Concerned with more important matters, like rolling down the window so I can puke again, I dismiss the possibility of death and begin to pass out. 

    Lenora says something, questioningly, either to keep herself awake or check up on me.  She does this intermittently and every time I respond.  Whereas getting to her apartment was, from my perspective, an instantaneous journey, from her perspective things were much more difficult.  She later tells me that, while she was driving, she was forgetting that she was driving, and she had to ask me questions to stay awake.  She had to talk, and she didn't expect me to respond.  But in my puke-addled haze, I always mustered the strength to blurt a half-assed, "Yeah" or "Cool," thinking I was contributing to our safety by doing so.  My other contributions include opening my eyes to see the road, getting car sick, and throwing up on out of the car. 

    When we get back, I fall out of the car, stand up and take a look at her car.  There are three distinct orange streaks trailing from the inside of the car, out, and back from the windows.  I say "Shorry," And tell her I will clean it up later.  We go inside.  I pass out on the bed.  I am awakened minutes later to food being stuffed down my throat. 
You have to eat this, she tells me. 
No, I tell her.  I take the food anyway.  It is an English muffin with cottage cheese on it.  It greatly resembles barf.  I down it as quickly as possible and drink some water out of a blue cup that is being pressed into my face.  I put the cup on the window sill.  I pass out again.

    Feeling victorious for getting us home safely, Lenora goes and fixes herself a plate-sized quesadilla.  She comes back and sits on the bed.  Through the veil of my blackout, I hear the sound of smacking lips.  Her chewing wakes me up.  Though I don't remember being pissed, I am apparently pissed. 
"STOP!"
"What?"
"CHEWING"
"Sorry."
"It's okay, it's just going to make me throw up."  It doesn't and I pass out again. Lenora passes out next to me.

    Imagine this next scene.  Try to visualize it with me.  My eyes open to the ceiling, my body shocked out of deep REM sleep.  My legs and waist are moist.  I look up and there is vomit covering my legs and my waist and stomach.  The smell is vile, and I see little salsa chunks caked in two spots on the bed.  Paralyzed by sheer amazement, I am only able to observe my surroundings.  I look to my right, where there is retch splattered on the wall like blood from a gunshot wound.  Something straight out of Hollywood.  

    To my horror, the story does not end there.  There is a trail of puke leading to the bathroom, where Lenora is now taking a shower.  I take my clothes, which are covered in quesadilla, off and join her.  We clean off and then strip her bed. I clean everything up that I can with my three-AM hangover handicap. I take down the dust ruffle from her window because it is tainted.  Hidden behind the dust ruffle is the crowning achievement of the night.  There, on the windowsill, is a blue cup overflowing with gooey, chunky throw up.   Not thinking, I dump it into the sink and not the toilet.  The next couple of days, the sink is clogged. 

    In the aftermath, Lenora is passed out on her completely stripped bed, with her completely stripped body wrapped in three different towels, one wet, as blankets.   Yellow, pink, blue.  And the memory of orange streaks on white walls, and orange streaks on her red honda.  And the floors, two blankets, the bed covering, the curtains, and dust ruffle. After everything that had happened, she is passed out and I am on the corner of her bed, finishing the last fourth of the humongous quesadilla, stuffed with salsa, beans, an inordinate amount of cheese, sour cream, and a shit load of hot sauce.

Post Script
Awesome party, by the way, Gary.  Sorry I had to leave so early and couldn't help lead the Blackout Brigade. 

I walk into the room across the hall from me and start pointing out character flaws.  Everyone inside is fixated on the screen, where two battling figures dance in and out of combat.  I point to Eric, the guy who sleeps in that room, and call him "too gamery."  I pick on him, saying I used to be gamery, but now I go to the gym and better myself.
"At least you're not one of those asshole gamers," I inform him.  I move on to Vanessa.  She's too opinionated. Johnny doesn't get out enough. Brendan is creepy. "You're a creepy mother fucker" is what I say.  Later, I sneak up behind him to emulate what he does to people.  Sneaks up on them.  Maybe not on purpose, but definitely on awkward.  This is Hunter.  Drunk Hunter.  He's kind of an asshole, and he definitely lacks a filter.  Not only for words, but apparently rice and red fruit juice.

A simple bottle of Odesse vodka completely consumed.  Not just by me, but mostly so.  My original intentions probably would have killed me.  Split the handle between me and this cute girl from the dorm. Yes, 50% of 40% in a short time = deadly.  Luckily, a friend from the dorm valiantly takes one for the team(or just my well-being) and helps us consume the substance.  By this point, I'd guage my intoxication at Boisterous Drunk, feverishly working my way to Raving Lunatic. 

At some point everyone leaves, and Raving Lunatic actually turns out to be Stumbles McPassout.  Yeah, I remove my shoes, fall on my bed, and die.

Reborn around 2PM the next day, I am still not cleansed of my intoxication.  I was still drunk, and liquids were sloshing in my stomach.  Oh yeah, you know where this is going.  And I did too on the bus back from our Dining Hall. The warning was something so typical and characteristic-- putting my forehead in my upward palms, stating "Oh God."  As soon as those two words passed through my lips, I knew what was coming next. 

The metallic tasting primer saturates my mouth, and I grit my teeth to hold back the flood gates.  Johnny and I are one stop from our dorm.  The doors open and the bus seems to rock for a second.  I watch people board and see them as  potential victims of my puke blast radius.  I cannot throw up on the bus.  My body cannot hold it back.  I contemplate these two conflicting ideas for nearly too long.  The engine revs up and the doors will close in a second.  I charge upward and outward, telling Johnny that I'm walking the rest of the way.  He doesn't understand my mumblings until seconds later he connects my statement with the sound of splattering rice, chicken, and red fruit juice on the paved sidewalk.  The two girls in front of me fall prey to my fluids, turning, and quickly sidestepping the second wave.  Feeling  immediately better, I quickly stand up to save what little face I have left.  Bad move, I puke some more.  Take three steps, puke.  Walk up to a bench, where a man in a green fleece sits.  I puke all over the place by his feet.  It looks like blood, and he looks pissed.  He doesn't say anything, though. 

Four times, four different puddles.  Johnny walks up from the last bus stop to see if I'm alive.  I am.  I say to him that I drank way too much last night.  Starting around 7PM and well into the morning hours, I know I've over-done it.  Again.  Because my character flaw is burning up, using up, and taking things to the extreme when they can be taken in moderation and still enjoyed.  It's like the economy.  Low times are forced so as to keep a moderate balance.  If the economy is growing too strong, it will inevitably fail and fall into desperate lows.  Thus, a tight wave pattern or frequency from one end to the next.  To regulate.  Regulation is something I understand.  Moderation I get.  But acting on them may never be something I'm good at.  I will always burn up rather than rust out.