Sunday, July 25, 2004

Darkness. Darkness complete and total, except for images, flashing in and out of vision. Visions of her. Laughing. Laughing at him, at what he felt, at what he said. Then, thankfully, sweet darkness again.

Later. Patches of light. Bits of sound coming through the haze. Pain.

Brendan opened his eyes and, thankfully, saw his bedroom around him. He didn’t even remember coming home last night. His head wasn’t pounding yet, but had a dull buzz surrounding it that would soon be a full blown siren.

The world began swimming. Brendan closed his eyes, trying to keep a grip on gravity, concentrating on where the ground was. Closing his eyes, however, was a bad idea, as the room began to spin and swim even more.

After several experiments with eyes open and closed and various degrees of laying down and sitting up, Brendan felt relatively sure he wasn’t about to puke. Jesus, he’d gotten fucked up last night. The last thing he remembered was the fourth free shot the bartender at the Shoe had given him. The drunken smile in the man’s eyes. After that it was just a blur. Maybe it would come to him later. Brendan decided not to worry about it for now and go back to sleep, now that his temporary vomit-scare had subsided. He lied down and was asleep in seconds.