Hangover (revisited)

Brave and Reckless

I wake in a nest of pillows and blankets that smell of fresh straw and heather, blood and sex.  Way too much light is coming in for this to be my city apartment with its shades and heavy curtains. I must be in my crash pad, the shell of a crumbling building a couple miles off the highway. My head aches, my mouth is dry and I don’t remember coming back here last night. If I am completely honest, I don’t remember much at all of last night. What little I can recall is a kaleidoscope of impressions: a biker bar, the smell of leather and smoke, the taste of smooth whiskey. Raucous laughter, loud music.  The pile of cash spilling out of the pocket of my discarded jeans makes me think I must have had a good night at the pool table.

I untangle myself from the blankets, stand on…

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Author: oldepunk

Writing about my views of the world in a stream of conscience style

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