For the life of him, Devon had no idea why he was there. “Oh, right.” he thought, “The liquor store.” That last thought trailed off in his mind, like i wisp of cigarette smoke. Devon, who could neither be described as being an an avid drinker or a strong believer in the, “Drinking is bad for you” idea; he did on occasion like to get drunk. Rays Liquor store was the only liquor store in town, and its prices were neither good or bad. It was more the selection that mattered to Devon. “They have a nice selection...” thought Devon in his head, again his thoughts drifting off in the end. He giggled and burped cheekily at the end of his liquor induced humor. Today was Devon’s day off from work. The asshole Leon was well, who the hell knows where, maybe running the station, maybe not. This thought usually would have made him grimace in annoyance, maybe mutter a curse or two under his breathe, but otherwise continue on with his (as he thought) boring existence. But seeing as Devon was drunk, he tossed his bottle of off brand whiskey into the street with such gusto that it narrowly missed a car driving past on the road.
Devon got up from the bench outside Rays Liquor, and fumbled awkwardly in his back pocket for his wallet. He checked his wallet and too his dismay, found he was out of money. With the thoughts of Leon and the Radio station wisting somewhere in his drunken and jumbled brain, and the thought of being without any money, he started to walk angrily across the street. His angry progress however was halted by a curb, which because he was drunk, proved to be a much tougher obstacle to navigate. He tripped stumbled and fell all in what seemed to be one singular movement, and fell spread eagle (and almost face first) in the left lane of Sobchak street. Devon’s daze from the fall turned quickly from confusion to disappointment to anger, and then as he got up from the ground, pain. He had scabbed he knees and the bottom of his arms, and his back hurt from the fall.
“Fuck this!” he shouted, and stumbled across the rest of the street and toward the roller skating rink.
It was not a particular busy night out, but there was some activity going on around him. His shout had drawn more than a few glances, but people for the most paid him no heed, passing him off as the town drunk (he wasn't) and went back to whatever they were doing before. He continued his long drunk journey across the street (he almost fell up the curb) and through his drunk haze, he found that he was between the roller skating rink and walters lanes. He looked around, and notice someone standing there, not five feet away, having a smoke. Being drunk, he decided that he wanted a cigarette (he rarely smoked) and approached the man standing there.
“Hey, you m-m-mind if g-g-get a cigarette?” he said to the man, stumbling over his words in a drunken drawl.
the man turned around and looked at him, reached into his jacket pocket, and proceeded to pull out his pack. Devon approached the man and as he was about to take the cigarette from the man’s hand, he misjudged his distance from the man and stumbled crashingly into him. Both of them fell, with much yelling and arm waving, and they landed somewhat together, somewhat separate on the ground.
Devon was no both dazed and scared. In his drunken state, he decided to get up and run as fast as he could before the other man could get up off the ground. The fall however had made there various valuables fall out of their pockets, and Devon, not really thinking about what he was doing, rushed clumsily up onto his feet, picked up a phone that looked like his, and a wallet that looked like his, and dashed off down Sobchak street and tuned left at the intersection of Benson street, making a beeline toward castle apartments.
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