| Current mood: |  mellow |
| Current music: | Trains |
Never Give The Man A Drink
On Sunday I spoke about my latest songvid where I sorta killed Starsky. I knew a story was gonna come out of this and apparently Hutch isn't one for waiting. Starsky's dead, Hutch is depressed, run with it. First page was okay, typical for what I made of the vid. Second page is when it all started unraveling. That's when Hutch revealed the last thing he did in Bay City was get vengeance or committed cold-blooded murder depending on how you look at it. In my defense, I knew this was coming since I've always said that if Starsky had died, Hutch would've killed Gunther. Point proven. By page three he's got liquor (bad idea) and he's arguing...with Starsky...who's dead. The man's mental stability is being questioned by me right now. I'm three pages into this and I already think he's cracked. How much more depressed and broken can he get?
It was the alcohol, it had to be. Either that or his eyes were playing tricks on him again. But there was no denying it. His partner was sitting across from him, just as real and young as he always was in his dreams. Hutch took another swallow of his drink, trying to banish away the image.
"Does it make you feel better?" Starsky asked, pushing him.
"Makes me feel something," he countered.
"And tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover, it’s gonna hurt just as bad as every other time."
"I’ve got nothing to be sober for," Hutch replied, taking the last swallow of his drink.
"You’ve changed, cut yourself off from everyone. Look at what this is doing to you.”
"Well, right now this," he said, holding up his empty glass, "is doing me a lot more good than the alternative."
"It’s been twenty-five years, Hutch."
"I know," he sighed.
"You have to let me go. You’ve got to get on with your life."
"What kind of life would you like me to get on with? I’m old, Starsky, worn out and beat down. I’ve got nothing to look forward to and I never did."
"And it’s all my fault," Starsky pointed out. "Everytime you remember me, it’s like the first time all over again."
"When a memory’s all that’s left..." he trailed off, looking at the empty glass and wondering if he was steady enough to go get a refill.
"Maybe if I stayed away..."
"No!" Hutch shouted, dropping his glass onto the carpet. “Don’t leave me again, please don’t leave me again.”
"You’re not living."
"Why should I?" he asked, sinking back into the cushions of the couch.
"Because one of us should."
I broke him, I broke him bad:(
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