The Rude Boy

The Rude Boy is all messed up at the moment. Well more messed up than usual. You see he runs off impulse. We wants and wants and wants. And will take any want and replace it with the next. His desires are comical to the rest of us, but so basic, almost primitive.

Until recently he had three girlfriends. Not that I believe he was doing anything wrong by any of them. He never commited, he never promised them anything. But as they cut him loose, one by one, he becomes depressed. He reaches for a bottle, or a big night out, or even just two curry dinners. Really.

He is a creature of consumption, on every basic level. He tells us his stories of inhumane consumption of alcohol, of copious amounts of food, of hours of viagra assisted drugs (I must say at this point he doesn't need it- it just ups the anti).

So today The Rude Boy came back from work early, too early. He walked out, in a hung over rage, over an accusation of racism. As messy as he is we all know he wouldn't stoop so low. Anyway, that was the tipping point and left to come home. Broken, yet still loud and finishing off the beers form our party last weekend.

Then came the tales. The night before he had slept on a bus, over jumped our stop by more than an hour, and then tried to find his way home, his drinking buddy vanished to the night. The only thing he could tell us was that he ate a block of cheese on the way back. Impressive and yet horrific.

And now? It's late and The Rude Boy has finally passed out. He sleeps deeply, disturbing the rest of us with his snores. Yet he is achieving another feat of the impressive and repetitive destructive. He is balancing a glass of red wine in his fist, lent against his leg, and he is out cold. He hasn't split a drop.

And when the door bell rang just now, for more take out, he jolted a little, and then resumed his drinking, as if he had only paused that was for a moment, not for fifteen minutes.