• I was drunk. All common sense was lost to me as I swayed back and forth on the bar stool. Tonight Jim was the bartender, and from what I could see he was giving me a look of pure disappointment.

    "`Always thought ya' betta than this, Ray... Gettin' drunk out o' yer wits don't suit ya'." Jim spoke in his twang, wiping out a wine glass with a towel.

    Being intoxicated, a made a highly embarrassing noise that sounded somewhat like 'psh' to counter.

    Jim shook his head. "Jus you wait. A good-old-fashioned Hangover will teach 'ya."

    Those were the last words Jim said to me that night, as I waddled out of his bar and onto the streets of New York. I lived just one building over, thus there was no need for an expensive taxi cab. (I didn't know it yet, but I had left my wallet at the bar. Though it didn't matter, in a day's time it would be returned, Jim's cash tip already removed from its contents.)

    As a drunk man, I must have looked ridiculous to my sober neighbors as I stumbled through the door and up the stairs to the second floor. I had been living in that apartment building for years. By now they had grown accustomed to my constant drinking. Every door I spun past I heard the bolt on the other side snap, signifying a securely locked door. If I had been sober, I would have been offended by it. I would never think to break into one of their apartments!

    Back in my humble abode I sloppily locked my own door. My feet felt like lead, and no sooner after sliding the bolt in did I collapse to the floor, taking the lamp besides the wall with me. It crashed, the bulb breaking and sending shards all over my cheap flooring. Ah, well, what could I do? I hardly noticed the lamp fall, I fell asleep right then and there. The drowsiness had overcome me, and I gave in.

    I didn't dream at all. I never dreamed. I fell asleep, and then I was awake again, the sun streaming into my apartment through the window blinds. I felt horrible that morning, my stomach churning, not to mention my putrid breath. I took one whiff of my morning stench and I nearly gagged, right then and there. I swallowed the vomit whole. No way was I cleaning up the floor!

    I brushed my loose hair back. For a male I had long hair, shoulder-length nearly. Oddly enough, I had been told that style looked good on me. Therefore I never felt the need to get a image-altering haircut. That morning I was tempted to, however. My hair felt greasy and oily, I couldn't wait to take a shower.

    Up off the floor I eventually came to the bathroom, not hesitating to take a good look in the mirror over my sink. I looked like crap. Literally. Just what cat had dragged me in last night? My chin needed a shave, badly, there were two dark, heavy bags under my eyes, and my skin was a ghastly green color. I didn't even have time to pick the lamp pieces out of my mane before I felt all the food from last night come back up. I wretched out, what felt like every bit of strength in my body, into the toilet and flushed. Vomiting...how disgusting... Yet it was just a price to pay.

    For you see, drinking helps. I don't necessarily like it, but it's an important part of my life. Even then, at the tender age of twenty-eight, it was a major piece of my existence. The alcohol was a protector of sorts. It blocked out all the ghosts.

    Yes, that's right. I could, and still can, see dead people.

    With that thought in mind, I took my attention away from the toilet bowl. I was not alone in my apartment. In all of my haze, I had failed to notice the apparition in the other room, currently lurking to my bathroom door...