Elsewhere, Jug was 5 drinks in, but that was a rookie number. He sat in a stairwell of 777 with some Tamil boys who were acquaintances of Billa he’d glommed onto as a recent party. He was in need of drink, and drinking alone was boring so he’d found them that day and started along. Having no car of his own meant these guys were valuable.
He’d stolen $50 from his mom’s purse and used it to buy them two bottles of Alberta Premium Rye Whisky while the punday had supplemented with beers and weed. They were big in the credit card space and spoke often of their exploits when they cared to speak in English and not Tamil. When they spoke Tamil Jug was sure they were speaking of him. Punday were all cheats so he wouldn’t have been surprised. Punday were all cheats and coolies were all pussies. He’d been dating Giselle, a coolie, for years but that was OK because she was light-skinned. She pissed him off though.
He took a big gulp of the rye and starting spinning. He felt bile in his throat so he called it up with a gurgle and spit out in front of him, with a long thread left hanging off his chick and onto his Tommy Hilfiger shirt. The gobule of spit landed just forward of the shelltoe of an older punday who slapped him upside the head for his insult.
The tamils laughed and Jug laughed too.
He drank until he was too drunk to think. The tamils were getting ready to leave. Jug was too messy and drunk for them to care for so they all silently resolved to leave him there. He was nodding off so one punday took pity on his and laid him on his back to sleep peacefully. Jug slept deep as his stomach churned. Eventually it was time for his body to reject the alcohol so it came rumbling up his throat as hot mucus and vomit. Once it got to his mouth it had no where to go and pooled. Jug was too paralyzed to move so it stayed there until he hicuuped and some of it went down his nose, blocking that cavity too.
It wasn’t long before the air left him and life left along with it too.
The next morning an older man woke early to warm chai from his loving wife as he got ready to go to his job at the local Tim Hortons. He opened the stairwell to find Jug there dead. The colour had gone from him and a smell had come in his place. There was no question. He wretched himself before he knocked on his door and told his wife to call the police.
He took the further stairwell down to avoid seeing him again. Once at the bottom he walked faster to the bus stop so as not to miss the 7:!7 bus southbound.