Karl
The incessant buzzing of my phone’s alarm is drowned out by the pounding inside my head—a lingering reminder of last night’s… festivities.
Why did I think that having one more whiskey was a good idea? I was already pretty drunk last night by the time I got home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Abby.
In a feeble attempt to drown those thoughts out and get some sleep, I guess I thought one more drink was the way to go. I still remember raiding the minibar in my apartment and pouring a rather tall glass of whiskey—no ice—which I proceeded to knock back while giving half of my attention to a crappy movie I found on Netflix.
Oh, how I wish I didn’t drink that whiskey. I feel like s**t, and I’m not even fully awake yet.
When I finally crack open my eyes, the red dig
