A Journey I Can't Escape E-Book

J.B. Galui

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

This is the first story in the WAF Journey series. I wake in the morning and the first thought that whirls thru my brain is- ‘I’m going to fucking die poor. And not just monetarily poor, but mentally as well as physically poor. What fucking shit is this piss assed day going to shove down my already bile filled throat?’ This first story is the journey of a man caught in a hell he calls life. A dead end job, a friend who he works with that he loves and hates all at the same time. A man who finds himself drinking too much, taking pills to function, and hating every thing that everyone with status has and stands for. The ones who look down on him and use him up. What he has to do to make this only life he has as bearable as possible. Drinking, drugs, sex, and the shit work he has to do are all this poor bastard has. Luckily he has a course sense of humor.

Leseprobe

J.B. Galui

A Journey I Can't Escape

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

A Journey I Can'y Escape

“A Journey I Can’t Escape”

By

J.B. Galui

Copyright 2013

Published by: J.B. Galui

Opening:

Anhhhhhh!, again I wake. Yeah, I wake to another bright, early, sunny morning. The array of birds chirping outside the window usually grab my attention. It’s really cool at night this time of year so I keep the windows open and the air circulating, sometimes with a fan. The hum of the fan usually helps me sleep, well at first anyway. But sometimes those damn dogs next door bark all fucking night. I need to mention the neighbor. What a jackass he is and the owner of those barking mutts. They are craving the company of their master, who is hardly every home. And when he is, puts them out in the morning, with a little food & water, but then never comes back home for a day or two. The poor bastard dogs are hungry, probably thirsty too. But that’s not my concern is it? I mean I don’t own them. I didn’t take on the responsibility to love and feed and play with them, and get my ass home every night to make sure they’re taken care of, did I? Well I do throw scraps over the fence a lot, I mean I’m not that goddamn cold hearted, at least not as much as their asshole owner. I hate the fucking barking at night, but I think I hate the fucking neighbor a hell of a lot more.

As I was saying, I wake in the morning with those damn birds, the ones who seem to be taunting me,

‘Get up asshole, we’re up so should you be, you lazy human load.’

And the first thought that whirls thru my brain is-

‘I’m going to fucking die poor. And not just monetarily poor, but mentally as well as physically poor. What fucking shit is this piss assed day going to shove down my already bile filled throat?’

But such is the start in a day of this fucked up life.

Chapter 1:

So along with the barking, the birds, the neighbors, and the shit that rolls around in this orb I call my head, is the sweet smell of the freshly brewing coffee. Thank God for the brilliant bastard that invented the programmable coffee maker. I don’t think he or she realizes how many lives they’ve saved with this invention. Sure you have to drag yourself out of your bed. The coziest place to ever lay your head since you were taken from your mother’s womb. But the smell of that fresh coffee makes the whole process bearable.

So as always I make it to the bathroom. I haven’t lost that bodily function yet. You know the one where you regress to a child again & piss the bed or yourself, that shit will have to wait a lot more years to happen to me.

I remember working in a V.A. Hospital. What a fucking sick, depressing place that was. And this was suppose to be a place that our ex military men and women went to be taken care of when their duty was done. What a fucking sick joke to do to these poor souls.

There was this one guy, I think his name was……Oh, who the hell remembers?.........Right, I mean really, who? Anyway every morning there would be piss on the floor. A streak of it from his bed to the toilet, and a wadded up; piss drenched ass-less gown thrown in the corner. I remember thinking this poor bastard was probably a tough fuck at one time. Crawled thru all kinds of shit. Saw his buddies being blown and ripped apart. Could break your neck with his bare hands, and now he can’t make it eight feet to the toilet without pissing himself. That to me had to be the biggest kick in his nuts. If only I had a programmable coffee maker for him at that time, who knows?

So I make it to my bathroom, sans urine streak, but with a headache and a fucking panic attack. I hate those bastards, panic attacks. Makes you feel like your heart is going to explode and a cold clammy sweat rushes you. Sometimes they get you in the middle of the night. Fucks up your whole nights sleep. That or those damn barking dogs. But a doctor gave me some medication for them. The panic attacks not the dogs. Some fucking little white pill that calms me down but will probably make me impotent in future years. But I can’t think of that shit right now I need a pill. Thank you Dr. Pill Pusher.

I think a lot of it may be that I drink too much sometimes. No I’m not an alcoholic, but there are times when one or five drinks aren’t going to cut it, so I don’t stop till I’m fucked up. But don’t fucking judge me like I’m the only one in this booze boat to ever go crashing into the preverbal shore. But I take my little white pill and the day begins.