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And truthfully—in hindsight—I really shouldn’t have gone through with everything.
She was drunk. I was drunk. Her friends were on another plane of existence kind of drunk.
None of us were in the right state of mind at all, really. But I always felt that getting married while drunk was something that drunk me would know not to do.
In the end, it all boils down to two things.
One, Sammi is still a coward. Even after she remembers most of what happened last night, she ran.
Two, I’m a fucking idiot. Dumbest dumb person on Earth.
“Excuse me, sir?”
I don’t even realize I’m being addressed until I feel this tap on my shoulder.
I turn and see a small family of obvious tourists with wads of tissue up their noses.
“What can I do for you folks?”
“Hi. We’re trying to find the Golden Gun. Do you know where it is?”
Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now.
“The Golden Gun? You guys are trying to find the Golden Gun?” comes a voice from another group of wandering tourists.
“Oh, so you’re both trying to find the Golden Gun?” I sneer, addressing both groups.
Both groups of tourists are nodding and smiling. They look at me like I’m some blonde, smelly Jesus who’s going to show them the way to salvation.
“Well, here’s how you find it.” I pause and I swear they lean in as if waiting to hear the word of gospel. “Fuck off.”
The two groups look at me with surprise, as if they’re getting pranked.
“I’m sorry?” one poor soul pipes up.
“I said: Fuck. Off. Do you want me to spell it out for you, mate?”
I turn and start to walk away. A small voice, like that of a child, calls me an asshole behind my back.
The kid isn’t wrong.
Normally, I would have been happy to help those people out. I’m a nice guy.
But right now, I am exhausted, I am frustrated, and I am in no mood to be the laughing stock of some big universal joke.
I just want to get on my boat, hit the water, and sail back home.
No more Thai mafia. No more stolen Buddha heads. No more underground gambling dens.
No more squirting on people. No more looking and smelling like a Thai sewer. No more Sammi.
The moment I step foot on my boat, I feel more than a bit at ease. I’m peeling off my clothes, and I jump straight into my shower.
It feels good to be back on my boat. Hell, I didn’t even want to stay at the hotel I was at. The only reason I was there was because there were some conferences about the migration pattern of the great white that I didn’t want to miss out on.
I get out of my shower and—unfortunately—I still smell. It’s not nearly as vomit-inducing, but it’s a stench that will probably linger for a day or two.
Just another reminder of how much this trip has completely sucked.
