The alarm clock is flashing 0701. Under my head is a pair of jeans. I’m fully dressed, my face covered in war paint, tv on, lights on.
I pull my belt off, scramble to the lights, smell burning, and go back to bed. At 0952 I decide I’ve slept enough. In the kitchen is a burnt chicken burger (it always seems to be chicken burgers that cause fires!) and flame marks up the wall. I’m still confused of their origin.
The only proof that I went out last night is a collection of text messages:
“this hot tub is hot and steamy?”
“I”
“I’m outside by the doors”
“T”
“F”
which I guess was supposed to say FIT, but arrived in a random order.
“My wooden spoon is on fire” which I assume I didn’t mean in a literal sense. But then I might have.I did take a wooden spoon with me?!
I also have a strange recollection of a life size polystyrene W, a lady called Clair, spelt Clare, who didn’t exists, and phoning for Clyrissa from an office that I’m pretty sure we broke into.
“Dear Clare please love me…you can find me on facebook” is not written across her desk
Overall, I suppose, it could be said that it was an ok night, on account that I didn’t fuck anyone off, or fuck anything up.
...Im supposed to have stopped drinking. But so far, I've only stopped drinking spirits.
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