Last Night’s Makeup

Last night’s makeup is caked around my eyes, there's a mascara ring of fire as I brush away my remorse. I exhale to the universe, my breath reeks late night chore boy and foil. Greeting the new day, I slam my hand against the alarm clock. My roommates are long gone. I’m the fuck up who gives everyone pause. Surprisingly, I got my pants off before the Xanax hit me. My "friend" at the bar knew I had been on a teensy crack binge (among other things).If I let him rub my thigh and pretend I'm interested, he's a generous person. His breath smells like Newports and rotten garbage. He leaned in for a kiss as I turned sideways. Such is life.

It’s 7:45 am. I have to be at my  job at 9 to open. My plan is to sleep with my head on the desk in between customers, like nap time in kindergarten. “I just want to rest my eyes for a minute” is what I’ll tell the fresh faced teenager whom I will need to cover for me today. I also have a few buy one get one free coupons I will use without the customers knowledge to skim money from the register. This is a great hustle to drum up $20 without getting caught. And it's not really stealing or this is what I tell myself. This job is saving me. I can eat here. I get money here. And it is keeping me from going without tonight. I can’t go without. Not for a day. Not until noon. Eric is dropping off my “lunch” and I’m going to be very very hungry. I didn’t save anything for the morning. I never save anything.

Two Vicodin washed down with a lukewarm Nestle Quik makes breakfast. I search for change in the couch for the bus. Four more days until payday, I whisper to myself.  I’m already broke. I'm actually quite in debt. Eric gives me credit. He will come collect from me on payday. He gets some broken down old lady to drive me to the check cashing place. My bank account is closed- long overdrawn.

 I tell the guy I let sleep on my floor to get dressed. I think I would’ve let him fuck me if he would’ve asked. I doubt he's the type to offer without some form of compensation. Truthfully, I’m not sure that he’s had a functional dick since he left rehab last spring. Despite the fact he has outward source of income, he manages to keep his pupils small and his frame even smaller. Not sure what the stripper he "dates" sees in him. Maybe his head game is exemplary. Who knows. For some unknown reason, he split his last two bags with me after we stumbled home from the bar. He’s going to be sick soon too. I have nothing to offer but the push from my pipe.
“You got somewhere to be...?!”
He tries to light up a cigarette.
“No no. You can’t smoke in my room.”
He scratches his head as I point to the door.
He’s going to beg his mom to let him back in the house today or that's what he told me last night.
"You look like a fucking raccoon", he casually holds up the mirror we did lines on.
Last Night's Makeup. Today is full of regrets.

                                            Me and my friend out living the trash life 2019



Comments

  1. NorahAugust 12, 2019 at 5:31 PM

    You’re a great writer. I’d read your book if you wrote one!

    ReplyDelete

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