I woke up to a disaster. My sheets were scattered around the room, one of my pillows was in the ashtray, and I was somehow curled up in the closet with a crick in my neck and a hangover.
"Fuck." I lit up a cigarette and groaned. What the hell happened last night? I untangled myself from the closet and stumbled into the kitchen.
A cup of stale, black coffee further embittered the morning.
"Well, at least it'll get rid of my hangover." I muttered to myself.
There we go, back to my old optimistic self… A painful smile creeped across my face. Almost.
I looked at my watch-Sunday, my day off. I don't have to see him just yet. But one day isn't long. I should figure out what happened last night, because the only thing I remember is him.
The first thing I remember was the meeting….