Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Sunday Bloody Sunday

“Peach. Peach!”

QueenB’s hand shakes my leg.

“Peach, your train is in an hour.”

I try to open my eyes but they are glued together with mascara and dried tears. I roll over blindly and land on another body. I pry my crusted eyes open and see that I have landed on the Englishman’s leg, which is wrapped around Cleavage’s unconscious form. We are all on a giant air mattress on the floor. It is our squatter’s village. Above us on the couch, TheHubby sighs in his sleep.

Beside the couch is a table with 12 empty wine bottles on top and a single remaining piece of Toro sushi. Did I eat sushi? I lick my lips. They taste of Wasabi, TheHippie, and vom.

“Where…where…is TheHippie?”

“She went home with Bubba. You were pretty upset about being separated. You kept asking for her. Eventually I had to tuck you into bed so you’d stop whimpering.”

“Why do I feel like I have a concussion?”

“You headbutted a guy at the bar.”

“Oh.”

It is Sunday morning and I am in the BigCity. I don’t know where my pants are.

5 comments:

Amy said...

Vote Peach. Heart.

weeone said...

oh my goodness... i wish i could have been there.

Anonymous said...

best last line ever.
please, never change. this blog is all i have.

Anonymous said...

God i adore this blog.

Anonymous said...

you betta believe that i voted for your hot ass!!!
also, you must teach me your headbutting technique!

love,
mo