hungover

I woke up today still wearing my bra, wifebeater, and earrings from the night before. Shit. Shit. Shit. Then I remember:

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My friend V has brand new expensive speakers. Really expensive. More-than-a-month’s-rent-expensive. He invites a few of us over – me, Z, his neighbors – for whisky and hi-fi.

To go with his expensive speakers, V has some expensive Scotch. We sip, we sip, we sip. We listen to David Bowie.

CS has invited me to a party, so I drag V and Z with me to the West Village. The bar has mostly cleared out, but I wave at CS, and we go and sit in the back. We drink. CS comes and sits by me, and then suddenly I am touching his hands, pulling his ring off his hand, slipping it onto mine, laughing at how big it is around my finger.

I am sure that V was rolling his eyes. Soon, he and Z are saying good-bye, and I am not surprised. (Later, it seems odd that they left me at the bar with a somewhat-stranger.) CS and I follow his friends to another bar. I cannot, at all, even remotely, remember where it was. We sit in the back. We have more beer. We are kissing. I am on his lap. For god’s sake.

He says, “Ok, we’re definitely leaving.”

He invites me to his place, which he had told me earlier is on the Upper East Side.

I am surprised, now, that I didn’t consider it, not even for a second. And I cannot remember how I (gracefully?) declined.

All I know is that after he walked me home, he trekked two more blocks and waited for the train.