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.