well lets see, im drunk, its 3am, and the parentals are blowin up my cell phone every 15 minutes. i was banking on a ride home from goldie, but he decided he didnt wanna leave until 4am, and then proceeded to pass out. ok, well that means im walking home from 17th and foothill. awesome.
i began my journey, whilst simultaneously attempting to contact half my address book. for some reason, people dont answer cold calls after 3am, go figure...
as i approached the freeway entrance on foothill, the landscape suddenly changed, it felt like i was trodding upon a haystack. nope. i looked down.
my mistake, it was a deer, not a haystack. my phone has a flash, trying seeing this thing on a cloudy night when intoxicated, you would have stepped on it too. fucking camouflage.
i tried to wake it up, and when it wouldnt, i realized it wasnt breathing. i took health class in 12th grade and learned CPR, so i tried to ressesitate it, but i was too late. i felt bad leaving it there, i mean, i love venison, and i could have made a cool rug with this poor fella, but i didnt want to drag it, and i still had a pretty far ways to walk, so i had to leave it there. some other lucky person came along and took it for themselves.
anywho, i decided not to walk on the freeway cus i didnt wanna end up like the deer, so i headed towards sugarhouse. it was like 10 degrees outside. i was cold. eventually i gave up, and at 4:45 am, after nobody else would answer their phones, and i was shivering uncontrollably, i had to go to last resort. TT phone home.
ken was quite happy to come pick up his son at that ungodly hour, and was even more happy when i hopped in his car reeking of club D {aka cigarettes}. it seemed his joy was growing exponentially when he smelt my breath and detected the aroma of copius amounts of alcohol. yayyyyy.
this saga has a moral though. dont trust your friends for rides because they will pass out and fuck you over.
