Drunk In Philadelphia Day!

Your rock band broke up two months ago so now you're hanging around with your best friend's rock band and they want you to be their singer. You've been drinking where you sleep, on the floor of an apartment in South Philadelphia, for sixteen days now. You haven't sung a note. You haven't written a lyric. You haven't kissed a lip. Not for sixteen days now.

There's always lots of people circling around you. The door opens, you wake up, you're introduced to at least three people you've never seen before, someone hands you a beer and tells you they're about to order dinner and asks if you want in. Then you sit on the borrowed comforter that comes between you and the floorboards and drink and talk for seven hours. Everyone else is scattered about on chairs and couch cushions, they're all up above. They're telling you they saw your old band play seven months ago and you're great. They're wearing shoes and socks but you're only wearing socks.

Things are good. When you're alone you're asleep. When you're awake you're drunk and you're craning your neck to look up at people who admire you. You eat when someone else does. You drink what's given to you.

You own nothing. You acquire nothing of your own volition. You attain consciousness only when someone pulls you from sleep. Your life is on the floor of someone else's life. One day soon, you're gonna write a new song.

Happy Drunk In Philadelphia Day!