This story appreared in my school's literary magazine last spring in a slightly cleaned up version. Note:
this story in now way reflects on the author and the author in no way condones the copious consumption
of alcohol for recreational purposes. Any similarities to persons, living or dead is not intentional
or likely. Without further delay here's the story:

"What on earth am I doing here?" Was all Rich kept asking himself. The main problem with that question
was that he didn't know the answer. He was standing outside of some dive of a bar in downtown New
Orleans.

The night had started out normal enough. He and a few of his friends were down in New Orleans for their
spring break and had decided to go down to Bourbon Street to do a little partying. Rich had had a few
too many, as usual, but now he couldn't remember where he was or what he had just done. All he knew was
that there was a dead body inside the bar and he needed to get out of there. The police were
undoubtedly on their way and his parents would kill him if they found out he got arrested. He knew he
couldn't have killed that person. Or did he? Everything was all a blur and he could already hear the
sirens coming his way.

It's not exactly hard to hide in New Orleans, even when intoxicated. He quickly ducked down an
alleyway and made his way quickly back to Bourbon Street where he could blend in and not get noticed.
He was lost in a sea of people and the people in the bar couldn't have possibly identified him. It was
by far too dark in there to get a clear look at his face. He needed to get back to his hotel room and
get some sleep though. There was a possibility someone had seen him and he needed to get as far away
from the scene as possible. Finding his way back to the hotel would not be easy in his current state
though.

The walk back to the hotel was treacherous and he needed to get some sleep. It would all seem better
in the morning. Maybe it was all a bad dream. The next seven hours were spent tossing and turning in
his bed. The room was spinning from the alcohol and his head was reeling from the possibility that he
had killed someone in a drunken rage. It was impossible that he murdered that guy. He was barely able
to stand at the time let alone wield that broken bottle.

When he woke up the next morning he was still not able to make sense of all that had happened the night
before. He flipped on the news and much to his surprise there was a picture of his face in the corner
of the screen and the newswoman kept saying his name. This was by no means good. He quickly turned off
the television without even hearing why his name was being said and ran for the door. He couldn't figure
out how the people in the bar had seen and recognized him. Just as he approached the door to the hotel
he saw newspaper reporters and police approaching the door and he walked by nonchalantly and luckily they
didn't recognize him there. There was a way out of the hotel in the back where all the food for the
kitchen was loaded.

There was a way out of the hotel in the back where all the food for the kitchen was loaded. He made
his way through a crowd of people without them noticing him either and grabbed a nearby apron as he entered
the kitchen area. The kitchen area was very confusing but he was able to find the rear exit after some time.
As he was heading towards the exit a cook stopped him and demanded that he help him with a souffl� he was
cooking. Instead of staying to help him Rich just ran for the exit.

The cook ran after Rich after exiting the hotel but decided it would be more prudent to go back and
attend to his souffl�. The entourage of police and reporters was no longer at the hotel entrance and
was most likely in his room right now. Rich had no idea what to do next so he decided to go call his
parents and tell them he needed to get out of the city right now. Rich was about to make the call at a
pay phone when he realized that his wallet was still in his hotel room. This was not a good thing. Now
the police undoubtedly knew who he was for sure and even where he lived. In all probability they were
going to telephone his parents soon if they had not already.

After much deliberation and a few drinks to clear his head Rich decided on the best course of action at
this point. He had to go to the nearest police station and confess to what he did. With any luck they
would lighten his sentence for being cooperative. He left the daiquiri shop and headed right for the
NOPD station near Jackson square.

Rich entered the police station and walked right up to the front desk. The clerk at the counter was
very attentive as he relayed his story and took down meticulous notes on the matter. After his story
was finished he sheepishly asked the receptionist what they would probably do to him for manslaughter
charges. At this remark the pencil pusher behind the desk broke out in hysterical laughter. Why on
earth would she be laughing? He was probably going to go away for a long time for this one.

The clerk looked him straight in the eyes after she contained her fit of laughter and told him exactly
why she was laughing. He had just confessed to the murder of a notorious mass-murderer and that instead
of serving time he was up for a ten thousand-dollar reward. The police and reporters were at his hotel
this morning to congratulate him, not to arrest him. At this Rich promptly fainted and fell to the
ground. He awoke in a hospital bed suffering from a mild concussion. All his friends were there and
were all making fun of his for his error and up until recently bad day.