It is night. My brain is screaming something about hitting the elderly with the car I am driving. I have never owned a car. My brain drives it home; One old lady is worth two hundred points. High motherfucking score.

I glanced at the passenger's seat, where my girlfriend would have been if she were still physically able to climb into the car, let alone be alive. Instead of the one person I trusted to stay by my side through this adventure, there were at least 200 pairs of sunglasses strewn about the seat. What happened?

It started literally five minutes ago. My girlfriend, giggling as I walked into a sunglasses store and demanded all of the free sunglasses. My arms waving around wildly as I staggered up to the counter in a drunken stupor. The clerk lying dead behind the counter. That part didn't click with me, drunk or not. I glanced over toward the end of the counter, and the robber who had entered a couple minutes earlier than we had pointed his pistol at me and fired.

I vaguely remember trying to convey my discontent in regards to being fired upon as the bullet whizzed past my left arm, scraping my jacket, and embedded itself in the forehead of the girl I loved. She fell over, dead. This was not sunglasses.

I turned around, beginning to sober up from the shock of my girlfriend's death, and with a roar I brought up my fist and popped off a quick jab at the armed robber's face. What I did not know was that, nestled in my fist, was a pair of those sunglasses the dentist gives you before he works on your teeth, with the stupid fluorescent earpieces.

My fist connected with his nose, and in an almost humorous way the earpieces of the sunglasses tried to shut themselves, making my hand look as if it was the head of a retarded flesh-and-fluorescence bull. I brought my arm back and swung again.

The earpieces of the sunglasses dug through the man's eyes, and he fell across the counter, screaming and writhing around. He fired wildly at the ceiling and walls, trying to score a lucky shot on me as I collapsed over the body of my girlfriend, weeping.

Today, I was drunk. The drunkenness washed back over me like a wave as I contemplated the body of my lovely counterpart.

I vomited all over her corpse.

This was not sunglasses.

Looking around in a rage-filled drunken haze, I realized that I had come here for a mission, and that mission was not complete yet. I ran across the store, grabbing a bag, and dumped as many sunglasses into it as I could. The robber was unconscious, maybe dead, and very much blind. The clerk was definitely not alive, and my girlfriend was covered in a mixture of her own blood and two or three bottles of jack. I departed.

Outside, the robber's car purred, grabbing my attention. He had left the keys in, thinking this would be a quick robbery. I climbed inside. The bag of sunglasses spilled all over the passenger's seat and I tore off onto the main road, forty miles over the speed limit.
My drunken mind formulated a plan and an alibi. I couldn't be arrested, not after all that murder bullshit. Murder wasn't sunglasses. Then it hit me. If I wore sunglasses, I'd look cool, and cool people don't commit crimes. They're too cool for that shit.

So I rolled down my window, reached over into the pile of sunglasses, and, with a flick, placed them onto my face. It was beautiful. I was drunk and I was able to put the sunglasses on and now I was drunk and cool and everything was great.

I vomited onto my lap, swerving into oncoming traffic. Stay cool, man. You're cool. I looked out of my window into the eyes of a screaming old woman as I roared past her into oncoming traffic. Two hundred points, lady. That's how much you're worth. I imagine my sunglasses shimmered with the thought and lulled her into a cool-induced trance.

I whipped the steering wheel around, pulling back into the right lane. This was cool. This was great.

It needed to be cooler.

I put on a second pair of sunglasses. Then a third. Nothing could get cooler than this.
I could not see a god damn thing. It was so cool. The coolest. I was akin to Ray Charles driving a car down a road at this point and I did not care because it was sunglasses and I was drunk.

Then I died.

It was simple; I couldn't see, and I crashed into a truck carrying some parts for a skyscraper that was stopped in front of me at the red light. I would have survived the initial rear-ending of the truck, if that hadn't been the catalyst for the thin steel beams violently catapulting themselves from their place on the truck and piercing my brain. These beams were not sunglasses.

The cops found my body, covered in vomit, blood, and brain matter. I was still wearing three pairs of sunglasses.

So cool. So sunglasses.