The next morning, everything hurts. I can't even tell where I'm sore, because that stabbing in my head seems connected to the bruise on my lower back. I tell myself I'm not going to pop pills when I'm already drunk anymore, but I don't really believe myself.
The next morning, I find the picture of the dog. I scrape all the residue from last night into the center of the glass frame, and push the little white pile into the end of a Lucky Strike. One long drag to start the cigarette and soon my head will ache a little and I'll be a little shaky a little on edge.
The next morning, as I soap myself up in the shower, I find a long red hair tangled in my own, and I just stand there with a big stupid grin for a while, thinking about a girl who's in Arizona right now.
The next morning, I find the picture of the dog. I scrape all the residue from last night into the center of the glass frame, and push the little white pile into the end of a Lucky Strike. One long drag to start the cigarette and soon my head will ache a little and I'll be a little shaky a little on edge.
The next morning, as I soap myself up in the shower, I find a long red hair tangled in my own, and I just stand there with a big stupid grin for a while, thinking about a girl who's in Arizona right now.
Pills and blow sound like a lovely escape now that I'm back at work...I hate them long weekends. They make me tired.