Goodbye Girl by Matt Mattila

Worst part of waking up this morning was having no idea where I was. Or anything else. My glasses should’ve been on a nightstand. I should’ve woken up on my right side, one arm over the edge, almost falling over. No light in my room. I scrabbled on the nightstand through piles of change and receipts and my .22 to find my glasses, the light switch on the wall above. I should’ve woken up alone.

There was a girl beside me this morning. Maybe this was her place. Maybe I got lucky that night. She was kind of cute too. Naked, blonde, one hand curled under her pillow and the other clenching the sheet-the only blanket on this bed-to her fake-massive chest. Her mouth hung half open. Maybe she was trying to keep me from looking. I bet the rest of her was good too.

The window behind me let too much light in here. Blinds half drawn sent bars of sunlight and darkness across the place, over me and her and on the dirty floor to the bare cracked wall on the other side. No idea what time it was. Where the hell’s my watch.