The Next Day

I woke up.

My head feels like someone had yanked it off, stuck two fingers up my nose, jammed their thumb in my mouth and hurled it like a bowling ball down an alley. Strike.

What happened to me?

Oh, my stomach it hurts. It hurts. It feels like its been raked and plowed, baked and battered.

Am I lying in a puddle? No, oh no … it’s all in my pants! I think I went number one and two and now I’m soaking in a number three.

What’s that smell?  I think it’s me. God, that’s awful. It’s like dog farts and litter box. Jesus, I’m surprised the smoke alarm hasn’t gone off.

I can’t feel my feet. I can’t feel my feet! Wait, there’s a bit of a tinkle.

A newspaper’s stuck to my face. Let me see if I can focus.

The headline, it says “Trump Inauguration Takes Place.”

Oh, dear God, now I remember what happened.

Maybe I’m overreacting but I think I’m going to be sick again.

Gil Prowler writes political and social commentary.


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