The Drug Dealer

 My life so far, has been reduced to becoming a drug dealer. I see that you are slightly shocked but interested as to why I would openly admit that I am a drug dealer. You need not to worry, I am not your average weed runner or crack head, no. I sell high-end, legal drugs. The police, inadvertently, hate me and others like me. For I am a bartender.

You go about your Monday to Friday, nine 'til five jobs, go out clubbing at the weekend and nurse a hangover on Sunday with a heart constricting, English breakfast. You should be cursing me for that but you don't, do you? And do you know why? Well, let me enlighten you; You go out with your friends and you go out for one reason - getting so drunk that you don't remember how you got home, why you woke up with no bottoms or underwear and a used condom staring at you on your pillow. Am I close? No? Okay, so that may only be aimed at some people but, if you ask yourself, thruthfully, it isn't far from the truth.

You don't curse the barman for serving you the drinks. You text your friends and say something along the lines of, "Wot did u do to me last nite!?" However, little do you know, I am the thorn in your side, the brass band in your head, the vomit beside your bed. I am your demise when you go out to "have a good time". I am your drug dealer.