Two Drunk Girls, Out Drinking Again – Alessandro Russo

June 10, 2026

Two drunk girls go drinking again.
Two drunk girls go drinking again.
Betty found another man recently. And by recently, I mean three months ago.
Me? Never thought I’d need one. Until the day…
Our workplace is not exactly where you go after college, let me tell you.
Or if you like to keep money in your pockets.
You come here, you witness our performance, you leave.
In a way, you can consider us your doctors. Or better, your lab technicians.
We extract your body fluids, but you keep them for yourself.
The results won’t be forwarded to you, trust me.
“Asshole”
Going back to our place.
Betty and I walk closely, and she tells me her partner has hit her again.
Go figure how many times I have told her to break up. Or break him up.
Would not listen.
But again, you know that most of us don’t want help.
“It’s just sometimes, when he drinks too much”,
Says she after two bottles of wine.
Or maybe, we just don’t deserve help.
A bystander is eyeing our miniskirts,
She tells him, “You want to see it? It’ll cost you 50 euros!”
He leaves, irritated, more for being caught in his perversion rather than the price.
“Fuck you, whores!”
“How many times have we heard that,” she replies,” it means nothing now.”
I half smile.
We are at our own place warming our mouths, so they say, before the show starts.
“He has had a troubled childhood, you know.”
A wildlife documentary is on the tv, no audio.
“His father used to hit him for not being good at school.”
It seems to be about a praying mantis hugging its partner during the act.
“Considering his job, maybe he should have hit him harder,” I retort.
Betty scowls at me with her slightly more open eye. Like I’m the monster.
The bartender brings another gin and tonic.
I ask her, “Have you noticed how circular everything is?”
“I don’t know,” Cindy.
“I don’t know either,” I say.
But maybe we should take some accountability, I tell her.
I mean, we were not the sharpest tools in the box clearly, but we could have done something better with our lives.
I could have majored in psychology.
Now here we are, at noon, setting up our quasi-pornographic choreography.
Vincent, the bartender, says he has read that all starts from the stomach.
That the brain is our second brain. Well, what a turnout, I murmur. You are a genius.
He says that proper nutrition can change your life.
His fortune teller has told him that.
Betty seems interested. I laugh.
We always do it. Find enemies, simplifications. The Darwinian link that explains our personal devolution.
The male mantis on the tv seems to be really enjoying his copulation.
So hard to accept we are not great pieces of holy Jesus.
I hate this. Betty tells me, “You have to see what he had bought me last week, best flowers I have ever seen.”
Was that before being your favourite martial artist? I wonder.
Vincent says men today have been misrepresented in our society.
Now the female mantis seems to be enjoying her partner a bit too much.
Betty says: “he reminds me of my father.”
Perfect, I think, hopefully he will die soon too, I hope.
“He is so strong and he makes me feel protected.
Wrapped up in his arms, I feel safe. He is a real man.”
On the tv, now one of the mantises is headless.
Vincent looks shocked,
I repeat his mantra “Nutrition is important!” with a smirk.
He almost pukes.
But you see, that is the problem.
Vincent says that if Betty needs anything, she can text him.
Betty laughs inwardly, I can hear replying like job agencies do: “After careful consideration, we have decided to move forward with another candidate.”
So many words to avoid saying “No.”
“What about you,” she asks,” any luck with dates? “
“No,” I reply,” I am really trying to raise Julia and in a way a man is the last thing I need.”
“Cindy, are you crying?”
“No, no, I am just a bit tired. Dehydrated. God knows, this place will kill us.”
I have never told Betty, but my 20-year-old daughter doesn’t speak to me. Her father and I have never been there for her.
Drugs had always come first. We would have killed for some meth. And we almost did it. We almost killed her when she was two.
Money came second, just to get the drugs, and at the very best, she was our third. We were the opposite of lovely parents. One day, her father was arrested for burglary, and I had to raise her myself.
You would think I have done a decent job, but daughters can be challenging in their teenagers’ years.
“You’re just a whore” she had told me. Packed her bags and left into the unknown. To this day, I don’t know where she is, but I really hope she is happy.
On the stage, the emergency paths do not illuminate, a technician says.
All I was doing was trying to pay rent and bills, but not everybody wants to hire a university dropout student who has given up on life. A whore is what I had become. My daughter was not wrong.
I cut it short for Betty “I just hope she won’t turn like me.”
“Cindy, you are an amazing woman. We will find a man for you.”
“It’s fixed now, they say, lights are on.”
Bell rings, Life must go off.