What’s the point of getting drunk anyway? The point is this: you’re at the bar, you’re having fun, you walk upstairs, you take it all in. And you leave. There’s no need – no reason – to leave, but you leave. You’re on 3rd and Santa Monica and you start walking. You don’t know where you’re walking to but god damnit, you spent $80 on these headphones and these headphones sound really good when you’re walking with intoxication and without destination.

You get to ninth and Arizona and you decide to pee. This is illegal, but fuck it. The trucks roll by, purring with the passing storm. In the earphones: Sleepyhead by Passion Pit. “They crowd your bedroom like some thoughts wearing thin. Against the walls, against your rules, against your skin. My beard grew down to the floor and out through the doors of your eyes, begonia skies like a sleepyhead.” It makes no sense.

Unless you’re drunk. The point is this: you walk four extra blocks for a midnight glazed donut at 7-11.

7-11, which was once open from seven o’clock in the morning until 11 p.m. in the evening. Hence the name. And what is a glazed donut anyway? Flour, oil, sugar, that’s it.

And in 7-11 is a woman in her 40′s who is waiting to talk to you. Lonely. So much loneliness. But now in the earphones: “wake up to your window, the day calls in billows, it’s echoing moonlight onto the blue nightmare of your heart, in cozy red rainbow, it’s shaking off halos, and the memory of our sacred so and so.”

You don’t talk, don’t acknowledge, but my god is this a good donut.

The point is this: on Lincoln and Wilshire is a homeless person. One of Santa Monica’s hundreds of homeless people. And it’s 50 degrees. And it’s raining tomorrow. And it was snowing today as you drove over the Grapevine. And you give this person ten dollars. And you wonder why you don’t give this person $10 when you are sober.

You’re almost home and you’re tired of being an adult. In the earphones, New Order: “Won’t you please let me go. These words lie inside they hurt me so. And I’m not the kind that likes to tell you. Just what I want to do. I’m not the kind that needs to tell you. Just what you want me to.”

And that’s it, that’s the point. A minor headache in the morning, but whatever, fuck it.