The Continuous Drunk

Jake, let’s call him Jake, put out his cigarette. The girl looked up at him and said “Paméla”. Then Jake ripped his condom off.
The next Tuesday Jake woke up during a Michael Caine-movie.
Since his father had died he had a lot of encounters with his uncle, his father’s older brother. His annoying uncle, who was an urologist.
His uncle would mainly feed him with falsities, Jake thought. Like his uncle told him about the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. He would say: “This is a method therapists use to keep track of your appearance. How does the patient dress? Is he clean? Has he shaven?”
Jake would just sit and stare during such a lecture. Internally he would laugh at his uncle. “You’re a fucking urologist, man. You know about penises. Wow! But what’s your expertise in the human brain, in ‘mental disorders’? I wonder how proud grandpa was when you said to him ‘father, I want to study and observe male genitalia!’ You’re just an April-to-March fool.”
Last time Jake and his uncle met Jake stood up, stretched his right arm like an SS-officer and shouted: “SEEK HELP! SEEK HELP!”
The ‘funny’ thing about his uncle was that he ‘truly’ was an understanding person. After the credits of the Michael Caine-movie Jake listened to his answering machine and heard his uncle say if they could have lunch together.
Jake hated lunch, but he did need a new prescription. For his pain. His Weltschmerz.
They met at a place called ‘Tiffany’s’.
Jake’s uncle ordered the waiter to come and a soda for himself and a beer for Jake.
They both still had their coats on.
“I hope this doesn’t reach you too harsh,” Jake’s uncle said. “But I’m giving up on you.”
“I’ve tried for a year…since your father died. And you’re hopeless.”
Jake’s uncle paid and left, leaving Jake both confused and relieved.
Jake gazed at the bubbles in his beer and thought: “I should have fucked his fucking wife when I had that chance.” It took about the same time that the Russians would be on the Kurfürstendamm, according to Udo Lindenberg, that Jake stood up, spit in what was left over of his beer and made his exit of the restaurant.

“All about life is fake. The world is a poor theatre. And it’s quite normal to have stage fright.”
Jake had his red wine day and his book of choice was Chinese poetry.

Then a truck ran Jake down…