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One crusty eye pops open. Its companion wrestles to join it. Two pissholes in a sea of blood soaked snow – those are your eyes. They vainly attempt to focus. There is sunlight – it’s getting ready to hit your face. You groan.
Not quite sure where you are – head throbbing. Those goddamn birds – so happy – chirps like hot daggers piercing your forehead.
The best you can do is lie there helpless, face stuck to the pillow – drool and maybe something you ate. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth – dry as Palm Springs.
Your brain is drifting aimless, looking for a place to dock. It’s a struggle putting two thoughts together.
It was a party – in the Hills – in a house. Malibu? Laurel Canyon? Can’t remember.
You’re in a bed – where are your clothes? You had some – you were wearing them last night.
You went with friends – big party – parents out of town – pool – incense – some guy with a smile and a handful of mushrooms.
Trying to focus – straining to look up – canopy like Thousand And One Nights – stained caramel from cigarettes.
Ash tray to overflowing – clock radio – six a.m. – Budweiser cans catching rays of sun.
Thoughts slowly clear – somebody had pills – you took four – you didn’t ask. Big stereo – Bless Its Pointed Little Head – lot of dancing.
You had to be someplace – don’t know what day this is. Life starts – Taking deep breaths – peeling your face, stuck from the pillow.
Large Tuxedo Cat with Emerald eyes – studying you – disgusted.
Fog of thoughts lift – School? Mid-term? Biology? Pit of stomach gets nervous.
Slowly move throbbing head.
Come face to face – have no idea who it is. Hair a stringy mass of nondescript brown – she sighs – you gasp – breaths do battle to see whose is worse.
She’s naked – you’re naked – something happened. Your brain is scrambling – she has a name – you can’t remember.
She breaks into a groggy smile – asks when you’re moving in together. You said you had a plan – you said a lot last night. She tells you – details get gory – she tells you she has a kid. She must have the wrong person. Nope – it’s you – she says so. You were the life of the party – she winks – you shake. A kid?
Clock radio roars on – Jeff Gonzer informs you it’s Thursday morning; 6:30. You wonder if there is something you can crawl under. Your life is strange.
The day has started.
And yes it is Jeff Gonzer and it is KPPC and it is Thursday Morning and it’s April 22, 1971 for a whole half-hours worth.
