Cold Morning Rise
Rise and shine! Bailey's tail thumps against the nightstand, a jackhammer wake up. The glass of water vibrates, threatening to topple over onto Carson's pillow. Again. He never learns. Either move the glass or get a bottle with a locking lid. Or close the door at night so at 6 am the dog doesn't inadvertently wake him up with a cold shower. Hungover. Slow moving. His eyes start to focus then bam, it hits him. A flashbomb blinding his vision. It's a new year. No idea what time he called it a night- somewhere between three bottles of Veuve and free flowing shots of Patron chased with salted pistachios and fried plantain. Friends with strange predilections. The remainders- cracked lips, salt-stained fingers and greasy cheeks. Depleted. Bailey paces, whining under his breath, drool leaking from his bear head. Carson swings his legs over the bed, heels hard on the cold floor, head in hands spinning, throbbing. Bailey's mastiff tongue shellacs his face, grooming his b...