And you wonder: "What did I do last night?"
You're not sure where you are, or how you got there. But the important thing is you're there now. You slide out of bed with the taste of the night before still lingering in your mouth and your eyes ajusting to the sunlight that is pouring through the shades of your new lover's room. You look around and see piles of clothes lying around. The rich smell of marijuana still floating in the hallways. You look at the digital clock on the nightstand.
You're not sure what day it is.
You go to the bathroom and run some cold water through your fingers. You look at yourself in the mirror. You've become a stick figure. The water gets warm and you splash it on your face like they do in movies and you feel uncomfortalbe with the water on your face and hair for a few seconds.
But that passes.
And you start piecing last night together in the fragments of broken thoughts in your mind. At 7 you and your other drug addict friends start smoking weed in the parking lot of the college. You take a line of tweak. Somebody mentions a party in the valley. You're down to go.
You take line of coke.
10PM comes and you're in a stranger's house, Someone passes you an E pill. You Roll. You have 5 shots before it kicks in. You hear someone behind you say "It's pure MDMA" and you Roll. Then you start having trouble remembering.
You're feeling spun.
You look down at your Arm and see that you have a new track mark.
And you wonder: "What did I do last night?"
You remember more but in fragments. Broken thoughts. Like memories of dreams.
The black girl who came with Silver Haze. Her Glass pipe. Your friend hanging off a ceiling fan. The smell of Meth smoke. Jackie Puking by the pool. Stumbling down the stairs. Making out with this blond girl.
You touch your crotch and smell your hand.
You had sex last night.
And you feel cheap. You're now just another guy who's horny, and willing. You're the expected male reaction. You don't even remeber her name.
You're a fucking whore. No better than a frat guy.
You think back. You remeber some of the experience, her pulling you by the hand into a room. Your mouth on her breasts. She went down you. You went down on her. She came. You didn't wear a condom. She was drunk.
She called you "Jason", Your name isn't Jason.
She gave you some heroin after you fucked.
It was 5AM.
And you wonder: "What was her name?"
You go back into the room and see her still sleeping. Her golden locks falling on the pillow as she sleeps face down. her Face looks warm and loving. She has sharp features, and big eyes. Rosy cheeks. You remeber looking into her briliant blue eyes when you penetrated her. She bit her lower lip.
You said: "You have pretty eyes"
She said: "Yeah"
You scan the floor for something to wear. You find your jeans and a pair of boxers that fit. She is still sleeping. You put on two diffrent socks. One Grey the other black. You are split between wearing a Led Zeppelin T shirt or a Red shirt with a sunburst on the chest. You go with Zeppelin. You find your watch on the nightstand. You look back at her.
She won't Remeber you. You hope.
"Was her name Emily?"
You don't want to be that "He left in the morning before I woke up" guy. You convince yourself that you aren't. Even thought you blatently are. You kiss her face before you leave and she squints in her sleep. You walk out trying to find the living room. You do. You find your chucks in the microwave. There is a naked guy sleeping on the kitchen table, with a lamp shade on his head.
"Amanda? No it was a name that started with an E"
You drink a glass of water.
"Elizabeth? Nah, that's not right."
It tastes like whisky.
You walk out of the front door, looking for a landmark. You walk down to the corner and into a 7-11.
"Esmarelda? No way, I didn't sleep with a countess."
The man tells you to walk 4 blocks to get to the gold line train station. From there you can get to Union station. From Union you can get back to Hollywood. From Hollywood you can go home.
"Maybe it was Alison."
You wait at the train station. You wonder where your friends went.
On the train you look out the windows and feel fucked up. You're not high anymore. You're just fucked up. You're just fucked.
"Elane? Nah; this isn't seinfeld"
When you get home you take a shower. You still feel dirty after you've washed for an hour.
Her name was Carla.