I sat on the edge of the bed and glanced at the clock.
11am. Fuck.
I could still taste what was too much Merlot and Stoli Martinis. The result of that and a couple of cigars was the ghastly flavor that was resident in my mouth.
The sun was coming in through the windows. Multiple glasses of tomato juice, raw eggs spiked with Worcestershire,Tabasco and Garlic salt and just being a rock on the balcony until my head got un-janked sounded like the most solid plan in the world. My head was pounding mercilessly. Too much fun.
“You never asked me about it.” She said behind me, suddenly. I felt her move. I felt her stretch. I could see without turning around her naked form under white hotel sheets. She was beautiful even when I wasn’t facing her. She was beautiful in….sound. FUCK.
“About what?”
“This….” I knew her very well by now and I also knew those scars. Even. Deliberate. Tragically symmetrical. Three of them long since healed. Both arms. Attention to detail….that’s how she was.
“Yes….” I said, like a boob, a hungover boob. Nothing clever or cynical. It was in my thoughts through nausea and headache, but it remained there.
“So….,” She sat up and I turned towards her. “Do you want to know?“
“Do you want to tell me?” I asked. I was a bit afraid of the answer. I wasn’t sure what outcome I feared the most.
It was very quiet in the room. The TV (which had been on all night) was muted and playing the Weather Channel. It was 78 in Atlanta. That was important to someone, somewhere.
“No.” She said.
I laid back down and I held her.
“My mouth is a trash can.” I said.
“Don’t care ….” She mumbled as she drew close and pressed her lips against mine. Hungry. Happy. Relieved.
For now.




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