Part 3: Abandon All Hope, All Ye Who Enter...

So, as I was saying... I went in through the door.

Let me describe the outside of the house I was entering. It was a smallish 2 story house... a colonial I would guess is the proper word to describe it. I know it wasn't a cape cod, having suffered in, excuse me, lived in one for many long years prior, and it wasn't a ... how do you say... okay, brain fart - I cannot recall... AHHH, contemporary - it wasn't a contemporary - it was much more cookie-cutter, white-bread, low-end, just-barely-out-of-the-urbia suburbia than that. It was mostly a faded white color, though signs of mildew or mold growing on various parts of the siding and under the windows broke up the unity in such... "artistic" fashion. The gravel driveway curved a bit around to the side of the house where the aforementioned SUV was parked. The yard was just fine however… if, by fine, you mean mostly hard-packed dirt with a few sections of very hardy weeds growing in clumps about the place. I believe there was just as much green plant life growing in the gravel walkway to the porch as there was in the yard. And to this fine habitat we approached.

Stepping up to the porch was a less than pleasant experience. The best I can say about it is that it was MOSTLY level, aside from the noticeable dip right in front of the door, and the steps leading up to the porch had that nice, peeled paint/warped wood look to them that seems to be so popular these days – I’ve seen the very same look on various reality shows that depict the activities of local law enforcement in a community near you.
As I approached the front door, I got to take a “nice”, close look at the screen door, which seemed to be hanging on for dear life. This may have been due to the unusually high number of clods and clumps of strange and varied organic material and, for lack of a better word, crud that had collected and entwined itself into the grid of the screen itself, weighing the door down considerably.

Drunk Girl went storming past us and in the door and up the steps within, and my friend followed right behind, her pressing need made apparent by the anxious way she walked into the house. And so into the breach did I venture…

Sometimes I am amazed by my own sheer stupidity and/or arrogance.

In and through the door I went, entering a dingy little foyer and turned left, following her through what must have been called a family room. There were interesting brown “curtains” (they may have been sheets) and NASCAR décor lining the walls, dull brown and apparently stained carpet covering the floor. In the corner, on top of a somewhat leaning VCR-cart a la K-mart sat a dust-covered television, on which something from the Discovery Channel was playing. To the right of me was a mini-sofa, a love seat if you will, upon which a man in what appeared to be his mid-twenties lay in some form of disarray – possibly asleep, more likely passed out, shirtless and in blue jeans.

"The only thing missing from this picture is a stained wife-beater," I thought to myself as I carefully traversed the minefield of empty beer cans that lay on the floor. (Hey, on the plus side, at least they were Budweiser cans, and not PBR!) I assumed, mistakenly, that this was her supposedly-soon-to-be-ex-husband on the couch. My friend and I scooted by and into the kitchen in the back – I gave a short wave and a simple “Hey” as I passed by. No response from redneck dude #1.

Drunk girl had gone upstairs to get some things and check on her daughter, I assume, while my friend found the bathroom near the kitchen and made her necessary visitation... and that's when the fireworks started….

Now, can you guess just what sort of fireworks those might be?
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