2. The nauseating fog...

I remember when l left
Without bothering to pack
You know l up and left with
Just the clothes l had on my back
Now l'm sorry for what l've done
And l'm out here on my own
Well it was a train that took me away from here
But a train can't bring me home
-tom waits

"You should become an accountant...good money in that." Mickey informs me as l sit next to him on the bed. The room stinks of smoke, heavy smoke like a sort of fog, only nauseating. TV is on blaring out some obscure soap opera. The heat must be cranked up as the room is almost unbearable, combined with the fog, creating a boiler room.
 "Yap, yap, yap." Mickey replies in response to his marital status. Mickey was married once however left his wife because of his mother in law. "Always yapping, yap, yap, yap." He was married for eight years and in turn created two off spring, a boy and a girl. Funny l can't picture Mickey being a father, sure a husband, as l picture him being the wild sailor, money in his pocket, melting some girls heart, with his cute boyish looks, promises of things to come. A real ladies man. "Yap, yap, yap, yapping mother in law." Mickey tells me his daughter doesn't drink. "Wife never did either...my son's a bum...always borrowing money...the bum won't get any money out of me." Mickey tells me he hasn't seen either for about eight years. We both remain quiet, each of us pondering the last bits of our conversation, like sherlock holmes and watson trying to piece it all together. Both having different reasons.
 Mickey offers me another smoke, Export A plain, shit, l decline thinking l might have just lost one lung because of his damn smokes.
 I question Mickey's choice of clothes as he's wearing his pajama's, colonel belcher specials. "Got drunk yesterday, in the park, passed out...now l'm grounded for a month...can't leave the grounds." A small polite laugh comes from both of us.
"Do you believe in alcoholic?" Mickey asks me. I'm hestitant, not sure which way to go. Like trying to please a teacher, l want to please Mickey. "What do you mean?" I reply, trying to play the idiot.
"No such work, l don't believe it...you just like booze, that's all...no such word as alcoholic." Mickey says. The subject is ended now and Mickey and l drop into silence, into the nauseating fog.