by Joseph Grant

My head feels like pounded dog shit; how the hell much did I have to drink last night, I groan to myself as I roll over and see the remnants of what had probably been a good idea at the time, snoring her not so attractive as she had been last night ass awake with a boozy smile. Don’t you good morning me, honey, I hear myself saying as I sit up and feel the room vortex around me in an almost out-of-body experience and she gets up and staggers to the bathroom with a “Fuck you, you asshole!” my next door neighbor’s next door neighbors could probably hear. Funny, do you always go to bed with assholes, I hear myself screaming and collapse in nausea onto the bed, disturbingly reaching for the last of the tequila that caused this aching head and a hangover that should be one day be behind glass to be wondered and awed at and studied at the Smithsonian. She’s probably a nice girl, give her a chance, my wounded ego says as she storms out of the bathroom and slams the apartment door behind her, never to return. I will never drink again, I promise. Until next time.


Joseph Grant, whose full catalog is here, is the first featured author in our "Six Sixes" series.