Top Ten Phrases Uttered By Me or About Me that I Hope to God Never Literally Come to Fruition:

1. That's really hitting below the belt.
2. He's only got one leg left to stand on.
3. He's half the man he used to be.
4. I'll keep my eyes peeled.
5. He has some skeletons in the closet.
6. I'm in a pickle here.
7. Oh it went in one ear and out the other.
8. He's talking out his ass.
9. I know I'm beating a dead horse here.
10. You scared the crap outta me!

Brandon wakes up with a pounding headache and a sore jaw and tired legs spasming uncontrollably and an accurate sweat-outline of his body soaked into his sheet like a police chalk outline of a homicide victim.

"Noorahhghghg" is all he can utter in a guttural, raspy voice.

He thinks through his last couple nights.

Friday was a teener of coke (cut with way too much laxative), a 6-pack of beer, 2 packs of cigarettes (parliaments in case public use of said coke was necessary), 2 Soma, and sleep. Well, "sleep" is more appropriate since it was more like 30 minutes of sleep followed by 30 minutes of anger over waking up. Rinse and repeat.

Saturday was a couple beers, some ok MDMA (cut with too much speed), 2 Redbull Vodkas (Grey Goose, of course...Gordon's would only have added to the hangover), 8 bottles of water, some good music at an ok club with a self-absorbed DJ, numbers from 3 girls (who will never be called, of course), two more pack of cigarettes, a bump of coke to kill the high at 4am, 2 Xany bars to induce sleep (well, "sleep", since it was just like the night before), and a couple of horrible dreams involving demon-salmon growing legs and taking revenge on all mankind due to the destruction of the fresh water salmon population.

"The argument that farmed salmon is the same as fresh-water salmon is using equivocation in a sad attempt to convince the green peace people to allow fresh-water salmon to be eradicated...and all in a vicious and greedy attempt to make more money."

Brandon pauses, grimaces, and then wonders why he is arguing for naturalists everywhere even when nobody is around. It's thoughts like that that kept him from sleep. Pointless thoughts. Well, maybe not pointless, but pointless at 5am.

A thumping sound and human voices rise him from bed. He walks over and puts his ear to the wall and hears the oh-so-common sound of his next door neighbor having sex. He laughs quietly as he remembers the lady who sold him the condo fervently reminding him that he would hear no "street noise". Apparently street noise is a big no no if you want to sell your condo fast. Funny that she didn't mention the paper thin walls providing not only little warmth on the cold, desert nights, but a voyeur's dream when it comes to neighborly activity.

With a little bit of shame (but not too much as to make him change his actions), he keeps his ear to the wall to listen to the moans and grunts coming from next door.

He tries to remember the last time he had sex. It was a one-night stand with a girl who's name he can't remember and who's face is a vague blur. Long black hair, almost black eyes, and a figure reminiscent of the 20's corseting craze.

"Funny how you end up where you are" he tells himself as he calls his dealer and plans on not sleeping for the third night in a row.