Wally Balls is an old friend of mine.  Big and I have know Wally since high-school.  After a few years of community college, Wally moved to Rochester to attend RIT.  Since then, I can count the number of times I’ve seen Wally on two hands.

A week ago I found out Wally was back in town.  We got together for lunch and made plans to go out Saturday night.  Unfortunately, a plan is just a list of things that never happen.  I left several messages with Wally on Saturday morning.  By afternoon he called me from the road to tell me he had left town early.

I was not happy.

I had just hung up the phone when Hack called.  We shored up plans for that night.  I spent most of the week contemplating an night of serious drinking.  Wally requires some encouragement to get the worst out of him.  Hack gets bored, feeds me shots, and pushes me into public.

We spent most of the night in transit, hopping from bar to bar.  Assess the scene, order a drink, frown, piss, leave.  A slow night.

Late in the evening I had given up the ghost.  Hack was slowly sobering up.  I had pulled out the stops, downing glass after glass of whiskey.  We shook our heads at the sad fools groping the bar for pussy.  I made small talk with a group of girls.

The cocksure demeanor that caught their attention was the same thing that chased them off.  Head bitch scurried back to the other side of the bar to snuggle up on her boyfriend.  Her two girlfriends were too drunk to serve.  After a few minutes of isolated small talk, their slurring left me cold.  I turned around and ignored them.

Hack pointed out that the bar stocked 101.  I can spot that thicker, darker band where the proof is printed from a long way off.

“I know it’s calling your name,” he said.

I spent the next morning trying to piece together the last parts of the evening.  I poured two Bloody Maries on the hangover.  Later in the afternoon I drove back to the bar to fetch my debit card, which I had left behind on an open tab.

After dinner I scoured the bar scars and Sharpie marks off the back of my hands with a brillo pad.