It must have been a dream, because my nose wasn’t running. A hydraulic groan and the soggy rush of an emptying dumpster pried me from sleep. Even before I opened my encrusted eyes to see my bloodied pillow I stretched to the floor for a flat, warm slug from one of last night’s cans. Lost in her own dream, my dog farts. I cough up clumps of shedded winter coat with an affinity for my clammy, shaking skin. I sit what I figure is upright and scratch at my bites, the new blood streaks brighter than the dried brown ones making a star on my adipose thigh. My TV is on very loud.

Four hapless has-been celebrities pig-pile some unfortunate homemaker from Cleveland. Yes, very loud. A high pitched ringing resonates through the laughter and applause and shouting, pulsing and shrilling, silencing as I swallow the rest of the dusty can’s contents. What was a carpet, now a permanent mud of synthetic fiber and dog urine squishes between my toes like the bottom of a stagnant pond. Littered with shredded packaging where my opportunist dog emptied the fridge of its souring contents, the door left open during the night.

I chance some dry, discolored chicken and an oily cheese, the beer is the only thing that doesn’t seem warm, like it matters. Seven left, five, two, none. My biggest pair of pants won’t button anymore. I take solace inasmuch as vanity is a sin and a stretched shirt covers it anyway.

By the time I realize I’m sitting again I’ve squinted sourly toward the spinning sun past where I was going, my sagging car bearing grinding, gear whining, old shoe empty can carpet reeking, scraping through an absent minded U-turn. Absent enough to forget where I was going, one liquor store is as good as the next.

A buzzing blue cloud sweet with catalytic exhaust reaches in my window at this light and produces a marionette hornet, indecisive in this fear-filled velour landscape. My numb legs, my shaking torso, my sticky hair, my running nose, my itching heart, an early girl catches the eye. That magenta-peach pressed and bathed, unwilling courtesy, heavy chest dancing with each move, face tensed toward an odor I can’t locate. Another 90 second heart race retail love affair. The next song on the radio makes me shut it off. Makes the same whistle in my head.

I knew a girl who always started breathing into my pants when my family called. She had acne on her chest and weighed more than me. There was something wrong with her eyes, her clothes were torn, would screw a black guy on sight – a religious type. Dating an ex-con, drove a car with no interior. I know the town she lives in. Manure country, yup. My dad was pissed when I called him at work. My mom was pissed when I got her out of her hot tub. I even called my sister. We met once. She didn’t remember me. Laughing and feeling liquid, giggle and swat hornets, turn on the radio again.