I reach out to grab the phone and my knuckles smack into an empty whisky bottle. The bottle connects with an overstuffed ashtray and the whole lot goes ass-over-tits onto the floor. By some sort of miracle the bottle bounces on its thick end, rolls under the bed and scares the cockroaches. It's the ashtray that hits the hard floor and breaks apart.Read more of David Fleming's colorfully written tale here.
Sunlight slants through the rickety blinds and punches me in the face. My head feels like there's hyenas living in it. I roll over, shut my eyes and pick up the receiver.
Next week: Charles Gramlich with "Hunter’s Moon"