Something about the last post is all wrong. I didn’t really embarrass myself, and I don’t necessarily have more respect for people in my hometown than elsewhere. Sharing a common history changes things, but exactly how I can not quite say.

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I assume that in the course of every group dynamic, or at a certain point in one’s life, eventually you start to see everyone naked. It’s a “matter of time” thing. I kind of love it – it adds something to a situation (for better or worse) in a way that nothing else can.

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A while ago, I was back in Houston, at this shitty bar no one really likes but everyone goes to. Here’s a sneaky trick: bartenders like to tell you the price of the bottle of wine you just bought after you hand them your credit card. I should’ve known things were going badly: sharing a bathroom with someone, one glass of wine too many, a creepy teacher from high school, a cigarette. All warning signs I did not heed.

I wasn't in a good enough state to make it back to my house, so I stayed the night at Eric’s. Alone and vomitty on the bathroom floor, in my oldest friends’ parents’ house, all I could think was, “You are twenty years old. Get a goddamn grip.”

I scurried away early in the morning, avoiding his parents making coffee in the kitchen, and I took the long way home. I hadn’t seen Houston at six in the morning in a long time, and despite the previous night still looming over me, it was nice.

Tomorrow: PART TWO: REDEMPTION.