Feeling woozy, Butch opened his eyes—he wasn’t home. Sunlight flooded the room. Half covered by the sheet, the woman beside him snored heavily with her mouth open. She was fifty some and smelled liked wine. Who was she and how did he get there? He drew a blank. Clothes and shoes were scattered across the floor, out the door, and into a hall. The phone rang till it went to voice mail. Some guy who sounded angry yelled that he was a block away. Butch’s temples started pounding. He closed his eyes: this could end badly.
|
|
"Classic"
|
