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I lifted my eyelids slowly, which were heavier than that fat chick Delilah from DelMonico's. A thin layer of crust broke free from the lashes and sunlight hit me, blinding me temporarily.
A half-empty bottle of Cuervo stared me down from across the room. I struggled to my feet and lumbered to it, picking it up and downing the contents.
I was half done with the bottle when I realized it was coming back up, a black and gold arc of bile and tequila. No matter; I'd choke back a couple deviled eggs and be as good as new in an hour.
Under the hot water, I woke up a little and tried to piece together the events from last night. She'd been there, Myra, but I'd failed to impress her. Maybe it was my crippled children jokes or the way I stab at my meat when I'm cutting. Whatever the reason, she wasn't here.
I toweled off and wrapped the thing around me when I heard a key in the door. My head pounding, I grabbed the Cuervo and took a quick slug, managed to keep it down. I reached for the gun, which I'd strapped to the back of the toilet years ago, Tessio-style, and held it in my right hand.
Leaping into the bedroom, I was struck by the pungent aroma of fresh sex. There was Myra, wearing nothing but a red sash and a vertical smile, a pair of handcuffs dangling from her index finger. I wasn't sure what to make of this shit, but I sure as Hell wasn't arguing, either.
The gun clattered to the floor and I bought two tickets on the Vaseline train to Beaver Town. Ms. Myra Decklo; I'll bet she had a sugary cunt.
Date Written: April 17, 2005
Author: The Rid
Average Vote: 4