Waking Up

His lids slid open revealing tired, bloodshot eyes. They scanned his surroundings. Where the hell am I? He looked to his left. Who is she? His hands slid under the covers. At least I'm still wearing pants.

His memory began to catch up with him in snippets. He remembered showing up at her apartment sometime last night, sans left shoe, struggling to put his soaked shirt back on.

He had demanded her roommate give him some icecream. He couldn't recall exactly, but he was pretty sure he handn't been nice to her. I might have to apologize for that.

He and his new friend in the white hat had walked to his car to get his cigarettes. I think his name was Derek. On their way out they encountered a girl exiting her apartment. They tried to strike up a conversation, but she seemed annoyed. He had been so impressed with how cool Derek was that he gave him a whole pack of cigarettes.

He had tried to play on the roommate's keyboard, but he didn't know how to play the piano. It looked expensive, so he figured that he probably shouldn't mess around with it too much. He tried to get the kid with blonde highlights to play something.

He layed on her bedroom floor, not wanting to move. Everyone was sitting on the floor with him. He felt uncomfortable, as if he could hear everyone thinking how much of a drunken idiot he was. He smelled marijuana. It was passed to him, and he showed a self-restraint that he could have used earlier that night, knowing that any more intoxicants would make him sick.

He heard voices in another room. He was alone.

Now it was morning, and someone (she?) had put him in his wet shirt and muddy sock into her bed. I guess I shouldn't complain. He threw his arm over her and went back to sleep.