two for one, baby; two for one

 whiskey-tango-foxtrot
  -or-
red-light-district

so regretful, the man exits the bar. as far as those regrets go: well it's a lethal mix of
a blurred memory and a bloody mary. it's as if someone scooped his brain out, but his
heart was still ticking. mistakes aside, he knew time was breathing down his neck;
unfortunately, he had stumbled into the a.m., daybreak to be precise, and it was already
way too bright.
the man stumbles along, formulating a plan, seussian style; while he vomits in an alley,
a mirage appears, sparking the man to commit to a weak smile; a contract with others,
endless lovers, safe behind covers, translucent in all colors, not fraudulent to unknown
formulas, the man wakes in a bed of flowers.
reverse-engineering the previous evening's events, the man realized he had also ingested
some strange pills from, of course, a stranger. he seemed to recollect it was an elderly
woman, which made him both aroused and confused. the man sits on a comfortable chair and
contemplates why he felt so much regret; he thinks it could have been some words he said,
but probably, he just played un(t)o and cheated death.