Erm...

thethemeis: Shame
theauthoris: Deadbeat

I just stood there starring at the floor.

“What the fuck man!”

The only bare section of carpet in which a complete version of it’s pattern could be seen was between the chair and the wall. Five and a half pattern lengths by eight and a bit the room was.

“Are you actually going to say anything?”

My fingers were dancing. It wasn’t their usual measured & co-ordinated jig. They skittered and tripped, frantically trying to work out the pressure growing in my pounding head. It was a futile effort.

“Do you even remember what you did last night?”

It was something to do with the kitchen. I’m sure there were many things, but the really bad one involved the kitchen. I couldn’t see it from where I was standing. I’d been confronted before I had the opportunity to check on the results of my previous night's actions. Perhaps i'm wrong. Domestic issues can be easily forgiven, he looks far angry than that. How long has that newspaper been under the sofa.

"You do this all the fucking time! You get so pissed up that you don't know what you're doing and you fuck it up for the rest of us."

This is definitely about more than the kitchen (unless i've broken his Jura Impressa 27, chrome). I must've done something to damage our reputation. That's always the problem when I get on the charlie. Nine times out of ten i'm the bomb. My wits are sharp, the girls love me and the guys hate me. But every now and then it goes horribly wrong and I come off as an absolute cock. Perhaps that's it, maybe I went rogue and fucked it up for the other guys who were onto a sure thing.

I switch my view from the floor to the new Sony 65" LED backlight TV, HD & 3D. The news is on, something about atrocities in some North African country. I know it's important to stay on top of current affairs, but I struggle to motivate myself to do so. Personal i've never found it that useful, my conversation is always built more around the moment. I wonder if always carrying things on your head like that has some sort of long term effects on the brain.

"So what was she like than, was it worth it?"

She? Who's he talking about. There was no one in my bed this morning. I say morning, it is nearly noon. Maybe she's already gone. Why would he be angry though? Unless... Marisa, she was there last night. I wouldn't though, would I? I mean, I definitely would! Who wouldn't? But I wouldn't actually. We have always got along though and she wouldn't have any problem doing it, not the way it ended between them. If it was Marisa then it's a cruel shame that I can't remember the night's events but still face the repercussions.