The weekend is over. It was a whirlwind. A hurricane. A duck-blur. At one point I was so drunk I thought I lost my hat in a pizzeria, or that one of the blood sisters had stolen it. I woke up at 2:00 in the morning with my shirt off, wearing jeans, sweltering. My mouth was burned, probably from the pizza. I walked into the kitchen to taste the water I'd been dreaming of and I found my hat on the stove. That's where I put all of my important possessions; on the stove or in the oven; it's the German in me.
It was nice to see them and we all had a lot of fun. We tried to end the day with chocolate, some award winning, extraordinarily delicious truffles, but we were greeted by a locked door. Drunkenly, and while screaming the word chocolate, I jerked the door with such savage ferocity that I ripped the handle right off. My hwoes acted swiftly and before I knew it we were running through the six into a getaway Uber before the cops came. I told the driver that I needed him to find my hat, at any cost.
I do feel bad though. I got them terribly drunk everyday, stoned, introduced them to each and every local disrepute, and forced them to sleep in squalor on a stolen air mattress. The inevitable outcome of my depraved behavior was the loss of N's passport. We called Uber, Zipcar, restaurants, nearby bodegas, even tore my tiny apartment apart, but it was nowhere to be found. Many calls were made to the TSA and they told her she would be subjected to a lengthy screening process and a possible cavity search to verify her identity. I recommended she take the bowling pin out before she got to the airport. For as long as I've known her she's had an ass like a magician's hat. I kid. About the magician's hat. Everything else is true though. I was sad to see them go. We'd become like three little sisters, a pimp and his hwoes. Who knows when I'll see them again.
In truth I am a little relieved that they're gone. Now I can finally masturbate in peace, without them waking up and asking me what that noise is.
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