At midnight last night, my surroundings were in disarray. Clothing, for a weekend hunt to Las Vegas, was everywhere. There were crackers deeply embedded in the carpet. The bottle of James Beam was on its side and (thankfully) not spilling. The mail, it's piling up. After that first bill from Sierra Ski Ranch (I've never even BEEN to Sacramento, so they've got the wrong guy, but it's such a fucking mess I want nothing to do with it) I just stopped paying attention to my surroundings.
About 20 minutes later, I was vacuuming the crackers out of the floor, instantly turning it to a shop-vac. The wondrous machine didn't seem to mind. The Beam was salvaged with deft-if drunk-hands, and I felt like I just fucking built a ship in the god damned thing. And then this LV anticipation hit me like a long, feel-good fart.
Toss...turn. That can't be it. Turned on the air. (Shit, did I leave it on? LA Gas Co, you can have my wallet). And then, as the sun shined, I woke up on the floor. So, let's sum up.
1) My mind openly left me at some point.
2) At some point I said "fuck this" to the bed.
3) My attempt to stay awake didn't take.
4) I am at an advantage in my war with the Gas Co (Those schysters already "mis-read" me to the tune of $64, so they can wait) considering I had the air on, and my place is simply going to get colder naturally, thus, it won't turn on. Right, keep repeating that.
5) Let me bet on Old Dominion, while holding an Irish Coffee, wearing shades indoors, asking Potsy where he wants to go for Lunch #2.
I have work to do.
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