Paul's POV
Maya wanted to drink herself into oblivion, for today, and I wondered what might have been going on in her head. I shrugged. She'll probably tell George about it. Paul, stop it. She loves talking to George, doesn't she?. Paul, George is one of your best friends, and you're not going to fight him over just some girl. She's not some girl, she's something else. Then do something about it, you fool. I'm on it. I remembered that my dad and Michael would always get startled when I would end up arguing with myself internally, not paying attention to the conversation and just frowning and scowling from time to time.
'' Because, baby it's you.'' sang John, softly, to himself. '' I saw her standing there.'' sang George, smoking and looking at the city view. '' Anna, go to him.'' kept saying Ringo in hushed whispers.
This will be hard. I wonder who she might pick out of all four of us. Probably George. Don't start this again, Paul. Yeah, alright okay. What if she picks John? John, my best friend, my handsome best friend who gets all the lovely girls. Paul, do you really want to have this conversation again? We just had it about five minutes ago. Shut up. I'm you, how can I shut up? Just shut up. Let me think. Think fast, you fool, time is ticking.
Maya left for a long time, she came back at midday, carrying heavy bags. She unwrapped carefully three different bottles of spirits, and one of wine. She took out a chocolate cake and a hookah. Maybe if she gets drunk enough...Paul, I can't believe you're even thinking that. Didn't I tell you to shut it? I don't care, thinking about getting her drunk is so foul I can't even believe you came up with that idea all by yourself. Shut up, other me. Yes, oh master, i'll shut up. I mean it. I won't shut up, a I already told you, I'm you, stupid head. I think I'm going mad. Oh, really? What was your first clue? She came back with her gramophone and her records, plugging it to a spot on the wall and putting in a Rolling Stones record.
'' Shall we get this party started?'' she said, serving a glass of wine for each of us, as she moved to the rhythm of the music. Well, yes, yes we shall.
I think that the term '' getting monumentally fucked up'' is a bit of an understatement for this occasion.
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