I awake to hear a shower running and quickly stifle a groan.
Oh God, my head hurts!
How much did I have to drink last night?
I slowly prise open one eye and quickly close it again, the light hurts my delicate hung-over state too much.
I sigh heavily and try to recall what exactly happened last night.
How are you feeling Sweet Peach?” he enquires as he walks across to the chest of drawers, selects a pair of socks and pulls them on.
Sweet Peach? What the hell?
He’s definitely gay …
I shrug. “Er … okay, I guess. I really don’t remember much though. How did I get here … and why am I wearing your t-shirt?” I ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.
Hagen laughs nervously. “I brought you home when you couldn’t tell me where you lived. And don’t worry, you got changed all by yourself … in the kitchen … for like an hour.
The lovely effects of champagne were quite gone and only the nasty ones were left; the taste in the mouth, the splitting ache in the brow and the impotence of not being able to clarify one's thoughts.
Monica Dickens6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days,
and I still don’t know which month it was then
or what day it is now.
Blurred out lines
from hangovers
to coffee
another vagabond
lost to love.
Tags: love alone heartbreak coffee hangover london city broken-hearted left berlin the-glass-child vagambond
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