Panicky and Peculiar
He woke up a bit bewildered, where was he? What day was it? Ahh, well must have been one of those nights. Give it a minute, it’ll come. No alarm, so either weekend or too early. He curled up and dropped off to sleep again, his head cradled upside. He was lovely and warm, it occurred to him, perhaps.
Some time later, he had no idea how much time, he stirred and stretched. Wow. I’ve never stretched like that before, long, languid and deep, he felt his bones creak. He wondered if it was age. How bad was last night?! Even now it was still a little distant, like trying to grasp a rainbow. It was there, but not quite.
His pyjamas were warm and fuzzy, he half-noticed. More fully he was aware of the smell of his breath: rancid. Last night, last night. Slowly an image emerged. He was hammered. Oh and yes, that bloke he was chatting to. That weird bloke. He made all sorts of claims, was he weird or was he just hilarious? It was hard to tell. No matter, it was a fun night, how had he got home? He could not remember this at all.
Oh bloody hell, I went back to his, we drank more, then, oh yes, that stupid game! He was pretending he had created some sci-fi style machine, what was it? Time travel? No. Something similar, from some book or other. He was so insistent, so convinced! That was part of the brilliance of his comedy: he was straight, dead-pan, like he really believed it.
Jeff Goldblum! Kafka! Oh yes, now he remembered they talked for hours about Metamorphosis. What a weirdo! Oh well, better get up.
Dan licked his shoulder, jumped on all fours and walked past his bedroom mirror. That is peculiar, he thought to himself, and panicked.
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