just another crime

dynasty
  -or-
dallas

my sister hazily told me to snap out of it; i shook my head and realized i didn't have a

sister. i was post-plastered and slowly regaining consciousness. my surroundings appeared

to be that of a prototypical cheap motel room. i chuckle while on my back, realizing the

linguistic difference between motel and hotel; it's a dumb thought, but somehow wholly

relevant. then i remember i had shot someone, or at least i had a memory of shooting

someone: an owner of reknown, i think it was deserved.

the problem, however, was this mess (and clutter) i was currently rising from; the room

was most definitely trashed. now, more memories, unsure of their accuracy, i feel

deflated. if i did perpetuate the actions running through my head (painfully, btw), then

i was a bad person. instantly, i knew i needed an out, a patsy of certain stripes.

staring at a wall (apparently i had smashed the mirrors), i notice a snub-nose that, for

an instant, i think offers an out. luckily (if you believe in such things), i also notice

an un-opened bottle of wine, glass i guess i had declined to break during the previous

night. this triggers a memory: it was vintage wine, dating back to my grandfather's days.

a small smile crept from my face, and i remembered.

                                               ^

paranoia, fear persist in troubled minds. despite my dire circumstances i locate a gift-

wrapped corkscrew, hidden under the mattress (don't know who hid it there). and in the

middle of a room of chaos, amid the uncertaintude of my future, i calmly pour myself into

the bottle, reflecting that i'll probably need an uncompromised lawyer. the wine was

underwhelming.