I sit at the torn up old bar in my dimly lit basement—
trembling with anticipation.
Tonight is the night.

I hear a knock at the door.
They’re here.

We don’t waste a second.
With shot glasses out,
we gather at the bar,
distribute drinks,
and open a bottle of Jim Beam.
.
Drink after drink.
Shot after shot.
The more dazed I become.
I stumble across the room
acting like a fool,
but it doesn’t matter.

I dance.
I fall.
I laugh.
Until the world
goes black.

I wake up
curled in a chair.
The smell of liquor
and vomit
intoxicate the air.

My brain pounds,
pushing at my skull.
Beams of light,
burn at the back of my eyes.

Why?

All because,
I wanted to be “cool.”