What brought me here, crumpled on my kitchen floor like a squished bug, is just like all the evil things my parents warned me about before I left home. I didn’t listen to their voices ringing in the back of my head when I decided to have a glass of wine with dinner, and then that snowballed into me turning into a lousy, good for nothing drunk. One day I’m on top and in control, heading for a promotion, and then I’m throwing up on a crime scene and getting booted from the police force and losing everything I’d worked towards since my early twenties, and dreamed of since kindergarten, when I scribbled a picture of myself as a grown up police officer in blue crayon, with a big, fat, yellow badge hanging off my chest. I'm wondering how everything would have been different if I just listened to the voices of my mother and father like I did back then. I should’ve listened to then. At the supermarket.
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