this morning #461.

this morning, the remains of his late, great thursday lay before him. the black, leather shoulder bag he schlepped back & forth from work each day draped over a kitchen table chair. a brewers jersey he’d won at the local, after-work bar’s trivia night. empty takeout containers from their BBQ feast. scattered 90’s-era playboys. his shirt, slacks & socks strewn across the floor. a bubble-letter note on the coffee table from the bubbly receptionist thanking him for a fun night & saying she’d see him at the office. next to it lay his cell phone, full of text messages & voicemails wondering where he was. where he was was hungover in his apartment, right around the corner from rock bottom.