Narrative Poem: Morning After by Patrick Valdez
My head is aching and I know that its from too much cheap bourbon from the night before.
I'm sprawled out on an old leather club chair.
Wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and a tank top and both are filthy with dried liquor and my own piss.
Think about that for a moment.
I stink of alcohol and stale cigar smoke and I am not at home. As I glance around I find myself in a small office.
The windows are floor to ceiling and covered with old newspaper. The light coming through the tears is cold and grey.
It is still early morning and I am think I am someplace downtown because that is where I was the night before.
Alone.
by Patrick Valdez
I'm sprawled out on an old leather club chair.
Wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and a tank top and both are filthy with dried liquor and my own piss.
Think about that for a moment.
I stink of alcohol and stale cigar smoke and I am not at home. As I glance around I find myself in a small office.
The windows are floor to ceiling and covered with old newspaper. The light coming through the tears is cold and grey.
It is still early morning and I am think I am someplace downtown because that is where I was the night before.
Alone.
by Patrick Valdez
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