After years of hard living and even harder drinking, Drunk Eve had lost it all: her imaginary baby and not one but two jobs. Of course, the good Lord never closes a door without opening a window and in this case the window was jimmied and snuck into by a druggie named LeTrey.

Theirs was a May-December romance so crazy that it should have worked despite the overwhelming odds against them: he was 31, African-American, and according to the rumor mill had tested positive for Hepatitis C, while she was 56, Irish, with blood that was 100 proof. To see them together, staggering arm in arm, shouting at non-existent people blocking their path was to see the face of love.

For a brief time they lived together in her home, sequestered from the clucking tongues of a disapproving world. But like all good things, Drunk Eve’s savings soon dried up and on Valentine’s Day the bank came calling (because her phone had been disconnected) with the news that they were foreclosing on her home due to a lack of payment. With no choice but to vacate, Drunk Eve and her ebony beau took up residence in a trendy upscale condo with LaTrey’s part-time stripper, full-time drunk sister Georgia, her domestic violence tendencies boyfriend Reggie, and their baby daughter.

For a few weeks, it looked as though the four of them would live together like one big happy, high family. 

Of course, tragedy struck.

Actually, it wasn’t tragedy — it was Georgia, drunk off her ass and behind the wheel of Reggie’s pick-up truck. Whilst coming home from a long night on the pole, she hit a family of four head-on, totalling their car and tearing the hell out of the front of her man’s truck. By a miracle of God, no one was seriously injured. Georgia, however, was promptly arrested for driving without a license, driving under the influence (for the third time), resisting arrest, and a lack of insurance. With Drunk Eve, LaTrey, and Reggie all unemployed, Georgia found herself behind bars with no way of making bail. Which was probably for the best considering Reggie’s proclivity for letting his fists do the talking.

Ever the entrepeneur, LaTrey began making the rounds ’round town trying to sell a half dozen watches and a rusty ten speed bike with Drunk Eve as his drugged out version of a Barker’s Beauty. Imagine my surprise when they approached me in the parking lot one afternoon as I was leaving work.

“Hey, buddy,” LaTrey slurred. “My lady and I have suffered some very bad luck in the last twenty four hours and need to get back home to New Orleans as soon as possible due to a deaf in the fambly. We’re trying to raise some cash for gas and have a selection of timepieces sure to make the lady in your life very happy. Show him, baby…”

Drunk Eve stared at me through half open eyes as she pulled up the sleeve of her plaid flannel shirt to show me six obviously very worn watches on her wrist.

“Do you think you could help us out, buddy?”

“No,” I replied curtly as I unlocked my car door.

“How about a bike, man? We have experienced great personal tragedy here!”

I ignored his question and got into my car.

“Fucking faggot!” Drunk Eve shouted as she kicked at my car. Unfortunately for her, the smack or whatever she was on had greatly impaired her ability to judge distance and instead of connecting with my door, she merely kicked at air and ended up on her ass for her trouble.

That was the last time I saw Drunk Eve able to stand mostly on her own.

A few weeks later, Carly told me that an EMT friend of hers had been called to Reggie and Georgia’s condo for a woman who had “fallen down.” When the ambulance arrived, “fallen down” had in fact been closer to “someone had grabbed her by the back of the head and slammed her face into the kitchen counter numerous times until she was missing most of her front teeth and suffering massive blunt trauma to the head yet had somehow she had been able to stagger out the front door where she collapsed in the front yard and found by a couple of joggers.”  Carly said that the police had pieced this together from the teeth fragments found on the kitchen floor and the excessive amount of blood that stained the lip of the granite kitchen counter.

Ever the survivor, Drunk Eve made it to the hospital despite experiencing a series of seizures in the ambulance and flat-lining once. Upon her arrival in the emergency room, her head trauma was deemed serious enough to require immediate surgery. During the 6 hour procedure, Drunk Eve once again suffered another seizure followed by a stroke. She lapsed into a coma, oblivious to the injuries she had suffered and uninsured thanks to her predilection for wasting her cash on substance abuse. Drunk Eve’s only living relative — a brother from Alaska — flew in to sit vigil by her bed.

It was while she was essaying the role of broccoli that an ex-boyfriend Glenn surfaced, declaring his love for her and asking her brother if he could have Eve’s hand in marriage when she awoke. He spoke of his life-long love for the lush, how they would’ve already been married if he hadn’t been doing time,  and how he was willing to stay at home and take care of her with the state-aid she’d receive for being dain-bramaged. Drunk Eve’s brother gladly accepted the ex-con’s offer and hauled ass back to Alaska.

Like the ending to a Disney movie, a few days later Drunk Eve’s eyes fluttered and she spoke her first words: “Uh nee uh fugging beer.”

*sniff*

The wedding took place two days later with Veronica from work attending in the  role of witness slash official wedding photographer. And what a set of prints, the little spider monkey faced bitch put together for the happy couple!

Despite a lack of teeth, a shaved head, and a fucking scar that looked like Stevie Wonder tried to put a zipper in her skull, the lush looked resplendent in her hospital issue gown, adult diaper, and what appeared to be Kabuki make-up. And the groom! What can I say? I don’t think I’ve ever seen an “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch” t-shirt and cowboy hat combo ever look more resplendent in my life. The man was positively beaming. (Either that or he’d thrown back a few cold ones on the way to the bedside ceremony.) After a brief stopover in physical therapy and financial services, the happy couple were soon residing in what passed for their matrimonial cottage: a used trailer home where they could often be seen enjoying a smoke and a malt beverage on their front porch.

Sigh.

Fairy tales can come true.

**Epilogue

The authorities closed the “Drunk Eve fall down and go boom” case file after LaTrey’s alibi checked out. Reggie’s, however, did not but since Drunk Eve was alive and kicking at that point and there were so many other violent crimes to investigate, the cops chalked it up to making your bed and having to lay in it…bed sores and all.

Dirk and his fellow taxpayers took great comfort in knowing that their tax dollars were once again put to good use for someone who took no responsibility for their life and felt that they were due the quality medical attention the previously mentioned working folks would probably not receive were they in the same situation because their medical coverage wouldn’t cover it.

Drunk Eve has never seen a dentist about her fucked up grill.

Glenn has been seen at numerous bars in the area, drowning his sorrows in a pitcher or three and lamenting the day he ever married that “hateful incontinent bitch.”

Reggie left town with another stripper shortly before Georgia’s sentencing.

Georgia was sentenced to 5 years for driving under the influence, driving without a license, and driving without insurance.

Reggie and Georgia’s daughter was sent to live with Reggie’s mother.

And LaTrey? Oh, that’s a story for another day, children…