Same Old Same Old

emmylgant

Last thing I remember it was somebody’s birthday.

I woke up at five AM to the sound of church bells somewhere close by, opened my eyes against the familiar pain and was unable to recognize a single thing about the living room in which I lay.

I heaved myself up off the couch, grateful that I hadn’t been sick on myself this time.

At least I was still in the city.

I checked my wallet. Payday fatness was down to seven dollars. Enough for coffee, anyway.

I’d need to get something in my stomach before I went looking for my truck.

 

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