Before you know it, you're too hammered to do much of anything, but you do make it back to your place, to slide your key into the lock, stumble through the entryway and get to your bed, where you pass out in your clothes. The next thing you remember is the dull spinning of a dark room and the need to get to the bathroom. You then stand or kneel at that toilet for what seems like hours. You've done all of this to yourself so you accept these hours and this very toilet.
Nathan Fake music takes you through the last three hours of a night such as this one, where you were in no shape for much. You should have ended up in a drunk tank, but somehow a guardian angel intervened and all of your distorted thoughts and illusions were stymied enough that they gave way to natural, if a bit slurred instincts that got you across town to your place or through the streets and the lobby, into the elevator that delivered you to a hotel room that you incredibly were able to locate, with everything still in your pockets.
The last three hours of a night like this are meant to be viewed in a post-sense as time-lapse video, which will better capture the mania of the behavior and the rapid disintegration of all control that you had of yourself before all of the pretty fluid started to kick in and you melted into wasted oblivion. It never felt like it spun out of control, but it did.
Somehow, it all seemed to maintain some kind of equilibrium, or this chill vibration - which is the one that Nathan Fake provides here. It could be just the thing that guides one home on nights like this one - this chilled caretaker, but likely the instigator of the whole charade, or the buyer of the drinks.