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He turned to me said “Just a little bit of alcohol and then what matters to her will be sex and only sex”. I said he stood no chance, i mean Priya was a pretty good looking woman and Mr Patel wouldn’t have looked half decent in his young days.But in my dunk state i agreed to his bet. I called Priya and said we ran out of alcohol and are coming home to drink. Me and Mr Patel climbed the stairs and reached my flat, we rang the bell and Priya opened the door. She was wearing her Pjs and T shirt. She looked at me and asked “what’s the occasion” i just casually dismissed her saying nothing. We poured our drinks again and i called Priya to join us. She wasn’t hesitant cause once in a while she enjoys a drink, but i know her capacity is not more than 5 pegs. The chats continued and me and Mr Patel had 3 pegs, while Priya ended up downing 8pegs….Her speech got slurry and she could barely keep her head straight now. When Mr Patel looked at me and asked “Can I?”. I said go ahead, but if she. I often think he missed his generation — he should’ve been a frontiersmen. He should’ve lived off the land. He should’ve built a log cabin with his hands and spent his days alone in the misty mountains on the back of a horse just as solid and steady and pensive as he, while his dogs puffed along softly at his side. He should’ve lived in a time less vivid, more black and white. Maybe he would’ve done better back then. Here, he has problems. Here, he can’t get much to agree with him. Here, he often doesn’t quite fit. He’s lost everything, recently. He works three jobs and still can’t afford to live. His house is about to go to the bank. His face has begun to look older than it is. His wife and beautiful infant daughter left him and moved back east. His wife can be mentally unstable sometimes and he worries about the baby. I’ve seen him cry silently about it. He spends long hours on the phone with her, staring sadly off into the distance while her angry voice pours out of the receiver.
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