9.02.2016

Wake up, ya drunk

You count twice.  Including your own, there are three naked bodies in the bed.  Across the floor you spy five beer bottles, three shot glasses and an empty fifth of rum.
You start to sit up to get out of bed but fail.  A combination of muscle cramps and the warning signs of a vicious headache slap you back down onto the mattress.
Trying again, you roll cautiously to the edge of the bed, let yourself down slowly to the floor with a sloppy push-up then crawl to the toilet that sits isolated in the middle of the basement.  You carefully hoist yourself to standing using the splinter cactus of a support beam then empty your bladder.
“I prefer waking to the sounds of a flowing river.”  Inky's voice startles you, causing your stream of urine to splatter on the toilet seat lid and the floor.

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