“Sometimes, I really hate living in this city,” the man to my right slurred, leaning towards me and spilling his shot of whiskey. I studied him with mild interest in the dim bar lights. He was young, with messy, dark brown hair, pouty red lips, and a thick triangle nose. His ears were big, and the one I could see was pierced with a tiny stud. He had thick eyebrows, and dark eyes, and he was wearing a suit and tie. However, the tie was undone around his neck, and his shirt was open four buttons. He looked like a mess.

“You know, I came here for a job at ReggiCorp,” he went on, turning towards me. I tried to ignore him, but he didn’t seem like he was going to shut up very soon. “Everyone just pushes you and pushes you, get through school, do this, do that, go here, go there, live, for Godsakes! And I just want to die sometimes, you get that? I just want to die. And the funny thing, the funny thing is, it’s that–and don’t take this the wrong way, sir, don’t take it the wrong way–humanity is fucked! All of us, too damn messed up. I mean, think about it, think about it hard, sir! War! Everywhere, in the middle east, in Africa, in Korea, in Vietnam, in Germany, all over the fucking world! And America, this fucking country, we’ve just gotta make more wars, get involved with ones that are already happening, and remember, war on terror, war on drugs, war on porn, war on teenage, pre-marital sex, war on the blacks, war on the gays, war war war war, I get so fucking tired of war. You know?”

“Sure,” I said, something noncommittal just to shut him up. I hated drunken idiots, but at least this one seemed to share my views on politics. The trouble was that drunk men can’t take hints.

“Do you have any children? Me, I had lots of children, I had one, a girl, back when I was too young to know better, couple of years back, tragic mistake, really. Complete accident, you know, total mess. I mean, not even knowing my woman’s name–” the man paused to grin sloppily, “it was a complete accident, a tragedy, really. Anyway, the girl, my girl, she came to see me around when she turned eighteen, eighteen, the age when you’re beautiful and, you know, because her mom hadn’t wanted her to ever see me, but she had a legal right to know and all that when she became an adult, her momma had told her. I think I found out that woman’s name in court, yes, when we went to court, we all, well, we all went to court. The woman’s name was… Margaret Something? or maybe Annabel, or Sarah, or something pretty, shit, I don’t remember. Well, shit, I seen her walk in the door, and it was like her mother all over again, and I started to try to get with her! See, I didn’t even know she was my own daughter! Think about that! I’m all hot, and wondering why there’s a beautiful woman at my door, so young, and I’m thinking, did I order a whore? And she’s standing there, and she finally asks my name, Matthew Jacobs, and I say, yes, and who are you? and she, well, she just stares at me, and then she says, real slow-like: I think I’m your daughter. Then she starts to sob, and I have to hug her, and it’s really strange. Then, she wants to come in, invites herself in, comes in and closes the door behind her. She wants to talk, but talk about what? but I let her in anyway. And, dear lord, fuck, I hate talking about serious things, like relationships, like life, I like to talk seriously about my work, and I like to talk seriously about novels, but when it comes to talking seriously about life, I get seriously messed up. And she’s trying to tell me things about her mother, and about her, and I keep drinking shot after shot, and pretty soon she’s yelling at me because I’m drifting off to sleep, and by then I can’t, well, I mean, I don’t… she… well, in the end, she leaves.” The man paused to ask the bartender for another drink, and the bartender unwisely gave him another. I took a sip of my flat, yeasty beer, and waited for him to go on. The man downed half the whiskey, and continued. “Anyway, then I come down here, already pissed drunk, and have myself some more! Think about that! And the men in my family, by the fucking lord Jesus, we can hold our whiskey!” The man swallowed the other half of his shot glass, and collapsed onto the counter with a low groan. I could hear sobs, and I watched as his shoulders shook. There are things I wanted to do and say to comfort him, but I never was very relaxed around drunks, and so I paid the bartender and stood to leave.

“Hey, you can’t just leave him here,” the bartender said to me, and I turned back to look at the man. I thought that maybe, I could tell the bartender that the man wasn’t really my friend, that we had just had a long chat about his entire life, but I felt as if I knew the guy. I went back to the man and shook his shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, “hey, what’s your address? I’ll get a cab to take you home.”

The man mumbled something unintelligible, but I stuck a pen and paper on the table, and then he was very willing to share all his information, including his Social Security Number.

“Okay Matt, come on,” I said, and helped the seriously drunk man stand on his feet. Now I remembered why I never went to bars. “You can make it, it’s just to the door.” I was attracted to this idiot, I had to admit to myself, but I didn’t say anything. He had already ruined two women’s lives, and if he were even the least bit gay, he would probably ruin mine, too. However, there was nothing saying that we couldn’t be friends.

Outside the bar, the streets of New York were still bustling, the only good thing about the city. Still, I felt stupid half-carrying an attractive drunk man to the curb to hail a cab. The homeless man digging in the garbage can next to us stopped to stare.

“What?” I said in my best New York accent, and the homeless man grunted and shuffled away. I finally got a cab, shoved Matt in the back seat, and climbed in beside him.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked as I was shutting the door. I glanced at the piece of paper he had given me and read the address.

“274 N. Asherton, Appt. 4,” I said, and looked up. “I think that’s in Manhattan.”

“All right,” the driver said in a thick Polish accent and very broken English. The car’s tires squealed as we tore away from the curb and down the street.

“So how is you tonight?” the driver asked.

“I’m fine,” I said tensely, gazing out the window as cars flew past my vision.

“And your… friend, how he is?”

“Not so fine, I assume,” I said darkly, glancing at Matt.

“Well, in Poland, I be like him all the time. I get drunk, drunk, every day, because, we no have money. When we have little money, I drunk. When we have no money, I no drunk. We never have lots money, we never rich. You know, like big, fancy movie-stars in New York, in America, oh, lots of rich, lots of money. No, not in Poland. We is workers in Poland, we is workers in New York, but someday, I will be rich, I will be lots of money, movie-star.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, just to humor him, but he nodded vigorously and went on.

“Yeah, yeah! In America, is ‘Land of Opportunity’! You know, I believe in American Dream, I believe. Except for president, what you think about president?”

“The current president? Well, he’s not my favorite–”

“Exactly, yes. He is not my favorite too, not my favorite. I hear conspiracy, lots of conspiracy, because the movie-stars, they tell me this. I hear that president, he spy on foreigners, like in taxis! He spy on foreigners, like me, like Nikodem.” He stopped and slapped his head with his free hand. “I forget! I am Nikodem, what is your name?”

I stared at him for a long time. Matt actually fell over onto my shoulder, and after pushing him back up, I answered Nikodem.

“Aaron,” I said quickly, and Nikodem went crazy.

“Aron, Aron is Polish name! Polish name like me, like Nikodem! You is Polish?”

“Er, no,” I answered slowly. “I think Aaron is an American name too…” I really wasn’t sure. My family hadn’t really kept track of their heritage.

“Maybe you is Polish! Do you know? No! So maybe you is Polish too,” Nikodem said, and arrived at Matt’s address.

“Can you wait here?” I asked, opening the door and starting to drag Matt out. “I need to help him in and then I’ll come back.”

“I wait, I wait,” Nikodem said with a wave of his hand, and so I half-carried Matt to the entrance.

“Got a key?” I asked him, shaking him back and forth, but he was fast asleep. I groaned, and began searching his pockets.