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Draft 2

Posted on September 18th, 2007 after 5998 miles by Dean Croshere.

You’ll have to forgive my indulgence here. I talked with one of my friends back home and found out that this opening isn’t as effective as I had hoped it would be. I’m going to mess with it a bit here. Is it clear what I’m trying to get across? Can you figure out what happened?

-Something is Wrong.

This isn’t right.

My hand is damp, cold: clammy.

I’m a little dizzy. Disoriented.

Clink. I heard that. Barely. My ears are ringing.

A dark stain appears. It runs down my shirt. My shirt… wait, that’s not my shirt.

I’m wearing it, but it’s not my shirt.

I step forward a bit. Ungraceful, not purposeful.

Crunch. I definitely heard that.

The deep bass ripples through the air again.

I step, slightly after the beat.

Crunch.

The floor is wet. Covered in glass.

I start to raise my hand towards my mouth, to take a drink.

That’s the problem. My hand is empty. It wasn’t a moment ago.

Oh.

I’m not that drunk. Am I?

::Discuss::Permanent link::Location

Grandpa
Carlsbad, CA
Central Ala- 'Bama
The middle of the state.
Heaven on a Bun?
Next to the CdA lake
Driving in Idaho
Just south of Coeur d' Alene