Stumblin' Home

It was one of those nights that moved by in a blur. He thought he would remember it all, but he was really struggling to understand how he got where he was.

Everything was spinning. Not in the vomit inducing - drank too much kind of way, but like everything was riding on a wave, rolling through the night, care-free and free from gravity. The colors were bright, the air warm, and the wind was blowing just enough to brush his face in a  way that made him smile.

He didn't know where he friends were. He didn't even know where he was. On his breath he could taste the remnants of the beer and whiskey. The occasional burp reminded him that at one point in the evening, tequila had joined the party. His stomach was warm and his head was fuzzy - but thats how he liked it.

As he strolled down the street, it no longer felt like he was riding a wave but rather trying to walk the distance of a boat in the ocean. Every couple steps, he wanted to lean another way, rolling back and forth - t alcohol driving him in a zig zag pattern down the sidewalk. As long as he didn't fall over, he didn't mind. Everything a head of him swirled and split apart. He saw two of everyone, of everything. The lights in front of him shown brightly and littered his view like a technicolor star scape - illuminating the path he was forging one step at a time.

At this point, it didn't even matter where he was or how long it'd take him to get home.

For the first time, in a long time, he was happy.