Freddy woke up the next morning with white cotton sheets pressed tight against his warm body. He also had an enormous headache. When he came to full consciousness, squinting through the rays of light that beamed in through the windows, he came to discover he was in his own room.
"Oh god..." He grumbled, trying to placed his hand onto his face. His hands were immobilized inside his sheets. During the night the drummer had wound himself so tight within his 50% cotton 50% polyester sheets that he resembled a moth in a cocoon. Or a taco with a 16 year old white boy as it's main topping. After a few minutes of untangling himself, he sat at the edge of his bed with his feet pressed against the chest that sat at the edge of his bed. Rubbing his eyes mercilessly with the edge of his palms, all he could do was concentrate was the pounding and the ringing in his head. Stumbling off his bed in his blue plaid boxers, he fell down on his stomach onto the futon across his room. His mouth tasted of mint and whiskey.
"Someone please fucking pick up the fucking phone." He groaned, referring to the ringing in his head. Hangovers were something that hardly ever happened to Freddy Jones, because he was smart enough to keep his stash of Chaser pills at the bottom of his chest, next to his box of condoms that were beginning to collect dust. For a moment, as he flipped over onto his back, he thought of his first encounter with a hung-over man.

"I've got a hangover, does anyone know what that means?" "Doesn't that mean you're drunk?" "No, that means I was drunk yesterday."

Yesterday. What did he do yesterday? Freddy scrunched his face in thought, running his hands down them so slowly that his cheeks slumped down with them. He visited Molly at work. Molly! That was it! He had gone over to Molly's house after getting Slurpee's. He couldn't remember much besides Molly's small shoes, and the oversized Christmas wreath that hung in the middle of the front of her house where there was nothing but white wood. He probably could have stirred up more events from the previous night, but it hurt his head too bad. Freddy hoisted himself up and stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom. Switching on the light, he groaned and turned the lights back off. They hurt his eyes too much. Instead, he plugged a nightlight into the socket in the mirror. It provided enough light for him to see his way around. Yawning, he looked in the mirror. His face was scratchy, so he thought he might be growing in stubble again. One of the highlights of growing up was growing facial hair. As he began examining his face he noticed that there was a big black, long black spot on his face. Freddy squinted and looked closer. There was writing on his face! Flipping on the light again, Freddy groaned again and looked closer at his cheek. There were numbers on his face! Numbers! What the hell?! Freddy thought. He turned on the faucet to wash his hands off, and when he stuck them under the water he saw the back of his hands for the first time that morning. It, too had writing on it. But it was smudged and un-readable. Pushing his face tight up against the glass, Freddy was able to read the letters M, O, A and I. Freddy scratched his fluffy, messed up blonde hair in thought.
"M...O...A...I..." He said aloud in thought. "Mmm...Mooaieee...Moiiiee. Wait, hold on, M.O.A.I isn't a word!" Genius, I'm such a genius. Logically, the only thing it could me was the word Markowitz, unless he had encountered other females on his drinking fest. But it was too cold outside to go anywhere, so he couldn't have gone to a show. But the letters weren't in the correct order. A goes before O in Markowitz. Freddy pulled himself up onto the counter, tracing his fingers across the white patterns in the forest green marble as he thought.
"OH! It's Molly and Markowitz!" Freddy said, tossing his hands up. He laughed, rubbed his temples and began his daily routine of getting ready. Only it was 2 in the afternoon, not exactly day still. He pulled a bottle of aspirin from the mirror cabinet, his hair gel and Clearasil. He squirted some onto his hands and started scrubbing his forehead. His eyes widened and Freddy quickly stuck his forehead and hands under the sink.
"What am I doing?!" Freddy raced out of the bathroom and into the study in the next room, grabbing a marker and one of the bills that he hoped his mom had already paid and spent the next 20 minutes deciphering the hieroglyphic phone number imprinted onto his face.

MOLLY MARKOWITZ 903-5768.

Freddy looked down at the scribbling at the bottom of the electric bill with a triumphant grin and then raced back to his room as best he could without toppling over. After digging around for a few minutes, discovered a cordless phone buried underneath the blankets that used to reside on his bed. He dialed her number quickly.
"Took you long enough." Chimed a voice on the other end. Freddy smirked sleepily, running his free hand through his hair and down his face.
"I've kind of got a hangover." Freddy groaned, falling back onto his bed and pulling the sheet up over his head, pressing his head against the naked mattress. How rock and roll.
"I would expect anything else. You out drank me, Freddy." Molly said. In the background, noise got louder. She was listening to a CD in the background to Less Than Jake, humming along every few seconds.

And I swear it's the last time. And I swear it's my last try. We'll walk in circles around this whole block Walk on the cracks of the same old sidewalks. And we'll talk about leaving town. Yeah, we'll talk about leaving, I swear. It's the last time. And I swear it's my last try.