11/29

My head.  It's throbbing.  Creating pain rhythmically.  I pull it from the floor.  Try to steady it atop my neck.  The room bends.

My beard is saturated with drool.  Empty beer bottles lay between my legs.  The cat bites at my toes but I'm too occupied removing the crust from my eyes to pay him mind.

I reach around for a water bottle.  Agua.  H2O.  Sustenance.

I feel cigarette butts.  Miscellaneous wrappers.  Bags.  I knock over half a beer.  Let the liquid fizz and spread about the floorboards.

When I grab the bottle of water there's not much left.  I drain it.  Hold the open mouth above my own.  Shake.

I remember a restaurant from the night before.  The big glass store front.  The big breasted hostess in the polka dot dress.

I remember the whiskey.  Always the whiskey.

I remember, once we were seated and had placed our beverage order, telling the dinner party that I'll be right back.  "Just going to the restroom."

I remember strolling past the Men's door, turning the corner, and hooking around to the bar.

I remember smiling at the slim brunette, standing behind the taps.  I remember her smiling back at me and although this immediately created a weightlessness to my gait and a tingle down the back of my neck, there was this unwavering certainty that her smile was nothing more than programming from a chapter in the service industry's training manual.

Then I remember a shot.  A smile.  Another shot.  A puzzled expression from the waiter tending my party as he rounded up the drinks for the table.

I remember strolling up to him.  Removing my beer from his tray, patting him on the back with a wink and turning towards the restroom.  

It gets a little blurry after that.