I woke up in a stranger’s bed today. Again.
She’s not much of a stranger. I’ve seen her in one of my classes once or twice. It’s a bit less concerning.
There’s a condom on the floor. It’s empty.
Probably passed out in the middle of the damn thing.
She’s still naked.
So am I.
I look for my pants.
I reach for them, trying not to fall.
She jumps up, her tits follow.
“Are you okay?”
I get up, and she looks at me still.
She lays down on her side, and her hips are barely covered by the blankets, and her tits are smiling at me.
My dick and I admire her.
We both smile.
We didn’t talk.
I like talking while fucking. She doesn’t. Or maybe doesn’t know how. Doesn’t matter now. I go to the bathroom and throw my seed into the bowl.
Kings. Geniuses. Writers. Mathematicians. Physicists. Poets. Lovers. Genetic faults. Parasites on my pocket. Meaning to my life. Flushed.
I puke. Not much food. Just phlegm and what tastes like Tequila and Whiskey being shoveled out of my throat.
I wash my face and leave. I forgot to flush. I’m not going back there.
She tells me to lay in bed. I tell her I can’t. I need to get moving.
I put on my pants. Underwear is gone somewhere. I check my phone. Barely any battery left, and three messages from the phone company. No one else.
The messages are saying I can’t afford sending any SMS’s.
I tend to send myself messages some times. Things I’d like to remember.
This message has thirteen repetitions of “Help”.
Looks like it’s been dealt with.
I check my jacket. My drink’s still there. Well, one fourth of it.
I drink it. It burns. Good. Fuel.
I get out of the front door and light my cigarette. It burns even more. My throat is dry like a desert, and burning like one too.
I take a final whiff of her off my jacket. Parts of the night return to me.
Her laying on the bed. The covers drooping off her hips onto her thighs. A little bit of pubic hair hiding geometrical perfection. Mona Lisa’s smile between her thighs.
I spoke of life. I spoke of pain. I spoke many truths and more lies.
An awkward morning may be better than a lonely night, but shitting where you eat will only get you both.