Maybe it was the rats

packard blur

Oh, godammit.

Maybe it was the rats, squeaking, and waiting to pounce. Maybe it was the gurgle of some unspeakably horrible, probably biologic fluid being illegally dumped (allegedly) in some nearby corridor.  Something woke me.  It wasn’t the daylight, because this godforsaken place seemed unfamiliar with direct sunlight.

I looked around.

“OK, I’m stumped.”  Glasses: gone. That explains the blur-o-vision.

I checked my pockets.  A matchbook.

I checked my wallet.  No cash, no cards.   No emergency Durex.

Karma:  ribbed, for her pleasure. as if you’d notice.

I found the Durex.  It was stuck to my foot.  I noticed, because there were no shoes to distract me. Also, no pants.

And, as near as I could tell, I had a gonad tattoo I don’t remember asking for.

Maybe I should ask the dead hooker that seemed to be bent over that railing looking thing nearby.

And I thought to myself. “GODDAMMIT! NOT AGAIN”

Craig James, alleged killer of 5 hookers while at SMU. +1.

 

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