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Everything smelled faintly of burnt toast and vomit. Pizza boxes, dirty
socks, wadded up mail, empty beer bottles, and a variety of papers smothered the
room; it was a domestic wasteland. The ants provided a portable
floor. They ruled all that was in sight, carrying away food and doing
whatever else ants do. In the middle of the chaos lay a figure, spread
eagle, with a trail of drool leaking from his
mouth.
"Ughhh," he groaned.
Eric woke grabbing his stomach. Once he started to regain
consciousness, he realized he was laying in the fetal position with
lord-knows-what stuck to his feet. Turned out it was a melted gum stick
attached to an old receipt. Well, that was one mystery solved.
But what he couldn't figure out was what had happened the night
before. A blurry alcohol-induced haze enveloped the whole night.
Everything was just a scramble of isolated memories, none of them were
connected, none of them really made sense. None of them seemed real
either, and he wondered if he hadn't just invented everything.
Well, all that would have to wait, at least until his head stopped
pounding.
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