Another cherished warehouse memory features Tim getting blind drunk and shitting on the linoleum floor in front of our shared closet.
Tim had been sloshed and passed out after mewling about the unfairness of life. After he had woken from forty-five minutes of fitful slumber I heard him stir, immediately unlock the drawer in his nightstand and fumble for a bottle—undoubtedly a pint of cheap vodka. Then I heard him unscrew the cap and guzzle a healthy measure. more »