(no subject)
It's already feeling like a long day as I pull myself from the web of sheets and pillows. If I'm the prey, I can only imagine the spider. Oldies crackle and snap through a radio alarm. How long has that been playing?
"Any trick in the book, baby, all I can find."
The thin arms twist and blur, warping time into a sleepy mess. Even if I could count the hours between set and now, there's no promise that the clock actually went off as planned. Pah, useless.
"Superman or Greeen Lan-tern, ain't got a'nothin' on me."
My back finally finds the floor. I passed out in my clothes again, and it's not some small act of god that I made it to the bed. The fall lands me on something soft, targetted dead-center on my spine. A sock. My left sock, to be exact. My right nudges an empty bottle. I can hear last night roll against the floor, nails against my eardrums. The rap of glass against wooden wall framing echos through my liquor-filled skull. I need an asprin and water, stat. I twist and turn, forcing my body to move. Rolling against the hard floor, I can feel the aches taking inventory, my muscles starved for anything with proof less than 40. I should get a sandwhich too. As I make it past the bed, my tie catches, pulling at my neck. I can hear it snag and pull, the silk fabrics ripping under my bulk.
Bastard tie.
My body wedges against the doorframe, head tilted so that the worlds takes on the blocking of an abandoned camera.
Blonde?
I blink back the grains of yellow sleep from my eyes and try to focus.
Blonde with a face.
We're getting somewhere.
Blonde with a face in a suit.
May pirates raid my booty if this is right.
Shit.
I was just joking, about that Pirate thing.
I tilt myself a bit, looking her in the eyes.
"...Kay..."
She steps forward, staring down at me. She looks like a teacher, scolding the rapscalion trying to crawl out of class. Thin wire glasses I remember her might just be my imagination, the reality being, perhaps always, the black rims of hers. Blonde hair once free in a tight bun.
"Professional, Mrs. Teacher-lady."
She offers me her hand. I roll away and force my body up, cracking and popping like a bowl of cereal. I brush past her, my first bluff.
"Whatcha need? I thought you left your key." Even through the sock, I can feel the cold floor. My left foot's numb from it. I work my way over clothes and notes, a coffee table and clothes to the kitchenette. The rattle of the pill bottle shaking my brain is damn near enough to make me stomach the pain.
"You left your door open."
"Again?" Play it cool. I swallow the pills dry and I can feel their smooth coating sticking to my throat, blocking air and spit from a downward journey.
More later. I'm finally onto something.