Hazy Hangover, 1932

I wake up. What happened? My brain is in pieces. My mouth tastes like whiskey.
Damn these prohibition times. They just make us too thirsty, more thirsty. The hangover is a fact.
She’s still sleeping. So beautiful. She still has that red lipstick on, must have been too wasted to wash it off. It matches the red lights shyly glowing in this dark room, and that light soothes my mind somewhat. I aint ready for any harsh daylight yet. Shit. I try to remember. We’re hiding out here. What did we do? I look around the room. Wait. There’s money on the floor. My hat. Hundred dollar bills. Wait. Flashbacks. Us in the cadillac, she, her hand on my cock as I’m driving, oh man, she’s so beautiful… It’s coming back to me – the shiny revolver, how hot she looked posing with it, how excited it made her, how we fucked passionately, we talked about robbing banks, about being outlaws, her back coiled in pleasure as she came, she scratched my back, she’s wild, she’s not like other girls. I remember now. Then we did it, now we have all this cash. And someone is on to us, a spy, someone’s out to get us. We’re gonna hide out here for a while…but then we have to get on the road again. Her stockings are still on. I’m gonna rip them open and wake her up with my tongue. I rather taste her than my hangover mouth. Besides, we can afford all the stockings we want now. I’m gonna get her everything she likes. She’s not like other girls. I take a swig of whiskey and look at her in the bed. Slowly, she opens her eyes and smiles. I’m getting hard again. I walk towards the bed.