Chapter 1
I know what it is, even with my eyes stuck shut. Even laying on the worn pine slats of the cold floor, head pounding. Its stale gasoline slowly leaking from the worn petcock on the 1952 panhead sitting in the small living room by the coffee table.
The old house is lovingly furnished with thrift store bargains and discarded items found on the side of the road, in front of houses in the neighborhood.
I inhale deeply taking in the smell and despite how I feel, despite the nausea, I can’t help but smile. Nice to have one of my bikes in the living room. Some ol-ladies seem to have an issue with motorcycles in the living room, I can’t imagine why.
It’s really not unusual for me, passing out drunk downstairs instead of staggering up the narrow stairway to the bedroom. But, passing out on the living room floor, and on a workday-no memory whatsoever of how I ended up there is a new low, even for me.
Of course, it is a workday and as I need my job, I’d better get my ass off the floor and figure out what time it is and if I can manage to pull myself together. Daisy’s licking my face, the girl wants food and to be let outside to do her business. Jennifer is just sitting there staring at me with that smile on her face, like she knows how I’m feeling, and she thinks it’s amusing.
Of the many clocks in the house only the one on the kitchen wall above the garbage can ever displays anything close to the actual time. Hanging next to the green spice rack, it’s a yellow clock that matches the color of the wall, an old G-E wall clock from the 60’s. 6:18 it says-at least it’s early enough to adequately self-medicate before work in hopes of feeling somewhat human before facing co-workers and clients.
On the back of the big brown chair there is a shirt that doesn’t smell very much like bourbon and has a minimum of grease stains and dog hair. I manage to microwave a cup of yesterday’s coffee stored conveniently in the pot left sitting on the cutting board from yesterday. I head out to the shop and fill the dog’s bowls with kibble and dump some water in their dish from the empty vodka bottle kept by the mud room sink. It’s kept for just such important duties and to remind myself about how vodka goes down way too easily. I know I should spend more time with the girls, take them for a walk once in a while. They deserve that but it never seems to happen.
