Matthew Epperson

The Morning After, by Matthew Epperson

Good God, what time is it? The sun’s peaking, and peeking through my window. Well, I guess I should say blasting. I stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of last night’s decisions. Will I ever learn? Nope. I enjoy feeling good in that diabolical sense way too much to stop now. Hell, I’m 23. Life is my fickled lover.
I roll over and pick up my phone off the nightstand beside my bed that lays frameless on the shaggy floor. 11 a.m.? Yep, I’m fired. I should’ve been at work 5 hours ago. What’s worse is that it’s not even a weekend. I’m hungover on a damn Tuesday morning, and here in an hour I wont be able to have the liberty of calling the world morning.
I lay back down with a thump. My head HURTS. I’ve never been one to prep before my alcoholic endeavors. I’ve got to learn to stay hydrated. Everything seems to be womping and fuzzing around me. I feel my head expand and shrink at the same time. My broke ass doesn’t even own any aspirin. I can barely make rent, why would I waste good drinking money on aspirin? I say that like I’m a badass, but the truth is I’m an idiot.
What was the name of that sexy little thing with the yoga pants on at the bar last night? Why isn’t she beside me? Oh yeah. I get angry when I drink to much. I pissed her off. She literally whispered in my ear that I’m getting layed tonight, but I some how managed to screw that up. Something about calling her friend a bitch. Man, I’m lonely.
What the hell is life about?

*This is an excerpt from my past… Obviously, I’m not longer 23*

Go see something live!

Matthew Epperson
DOC #284812

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