The Lost Art of Drinking - A Study in Archaic Energy
The Lost Art of Drinking - A Study in Archaic Energy short story stories
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jasonmarx
jasonmarx Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a month ago
Just a little free-write, would love some feedback!

The Lost Art of Drinking - A Study in Archaic Energy

We were laying on his front lawn with what seemed like an endless case of Budweiser between us. This was a familiar event in my life, with him or anyone else really.

I'd started to enjoy the camaraderie that heavy drinking and conversation had brought. It seemed like an almost ancient ritual in today's world.

'The lost art of drinking - a study in archaic energy', I smiled at myself thinking of the corny book title published by some twenty-something anthropology major thinking he was onto something.

But hey, at least he wouldn't be wrong that it seemed we'd lost the ability to converse without the crutch of music, or a telephone, or some ulterior motive.

So who really cares if I use drinking as a crutch for camaraderie, at least I'm trying.

Something seemed odd tonight however. There was something unspoken and the tension rode like a hummingbird, it's chaotic stillness hovering above.

We'd been talking for almost two hours before he opened another beer and calmly said "I feel myself moving faster towards something deep and dark Jason.

I don't know exactly what it is, or what it means for me, but there is a feeling in the pit of my stomach that the future has something dark in store for me.

How dark?" he paused to take a sip, "I'm unsure, and I'm entirely unsure about what it mean for me but the feeling is palpable. I wake up every morning and think about it.

Think about my future and what possibly may happen. But damn does it scare me."

I didn't know what to say, like I ever have any idea for that matter.

I was too obsessed with my own sense of genuineness that I didn't want to give him a false pretense or understanding of what I thought myself.

"What spurred this thought?" I could hear him chuckle. Probably thinking to himself how insensitive it was for me to give a response of almost asking he didn't say it in the first place.

"Probably the alcohol. As good beer flows so do secrets and whispers" he murmured as he took another drink and opened another beer almost immediately after.

I smirked, thinking to myself that that was either a comment from his alcoholic father or some movie he'd seen once, or worse a short-story.

He had a habit or repackaging quotes as his own, I'd seen it done a million times before to get a quick lay.

Although I never figured that it may just be a habit he's come to because he wants to have a deeper side to himself but just incapable of doing so.

"I get that man, I sometimes think the only thing the future holds is some mundane desk job. Caught up in the constant rhythm of things and sedated by entertainment day in and day out.

Only to wake up 10 years from now and find myself thirty-three and essentially the same person as I am now. I mean, that's what life is like now.

Wake up, go to work, come home, watch sports or Netflix, go to bed. Over and over again." I turn myself from pointing to the other side of the cul-de-sac to Pete looking up at the skyline.

"The only thing that breaks the days up from all being some jumbled mess is the occasional anxiety that I get from talking with girls on Instagram or any of these dumbass dating sites,

and the even more occasional social outing that doesn't involve the same twenty people we've spent our whole lives with."

Pete turns to me as well. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, just being trapped in some artificial excuse for a life that doesn't feel like one.

Like living the copy of someone else's life, simply being a passenger strapped in on the most boring rollercoaster you've been on.

" He let's out a laugh, "Hell I'd welcome something crazy to happen in my life just to give myself a little excitement.

" He reaches to grab another beer but a scowl appears on his face that is familiar. He shows me the case, now a useless piece of cardboard, confirming my suspicions.

He groans as he gets up slowly. He reaches out his hand down to me, "Come on, I think I have a few beers inside. We can put on a movie." He says as helps me up and walks towards the house.

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