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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Experience · #1301455
A story I started.
Last night I awoke to a bright beam of light coming in my window.
“Damn you Santa.”
I cursed and pulled the rug over my ragged body and promptly passed out. A short while later the light brought me around to consciousness again, this time accompanied by a thunderous boom followed by several smaller explosions.
“ugggh.”I moaned while using the arm of the sofa to help me stand up. Being disoriented by the light I crashed into the cheap gold plastic coat rack, simultaneously kicking free the bowling ball that stabilized it.
“Fu” was all I got out before being knocked unconscious by the doorknob.
When I came to, the sun was glaring with its usual midday fury. My foot throbbed. My head was dumb with liquor and heavy with the hammering sensation alternating between my temples. It was enough, however to dull the pain from the knot on my head from the door knob. I hobbled to the kitchen vomited and then closing my eyes tossed a cup of water on my face. As the water dripped down I realized my complete nakedness; with the exception of the bandage on my left leg. Then I caught my reflection in the window, I looked like shit. I put on my orange Florida gators shorts with a hole in the left ass check and a dingy undershirt with permanent piss colored pit stains along with one boot and a flip flop for the swollen left foot.
“Thank god the seasons over.” I muttered while I maneuvered my way outside.
Outside I took a deep breath, caught a whiff of something a fly wouldn’t land on then vomited again. Lit up a cigarette took a puff and headed across the sandy stretch with the occasional weed patch that is the lawn in the direction of the neighbors house. A friend. While approaching his drive I admired the Tall steel industrial site night work light facing the front of my house that had provoked me from a slumber.
“What the hell is the deal with the light.” I yelled.
“You just fucked up my photo shoot for tomorrow.” I added.
Rodney Saintnic rolled out from under the car he was working on. Sat up, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his fat fingers .
“You gotta’ stop datin’ women that beat on you pal.” He said with a grin and a chuckle.
“Balls” I said with a scowl.
He then stood and passed me a mug. I quickly took a swig and promptly spewed the liquid upon the oil stained concrete floor.
“Dirty, Dirty bean water.” I muttered
“Photo shoot? Ha! That’s rich.” He said as he made his way under the hood soon followed by the click, click of the ratchet.
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