sloppy foz (part one)

a manic rap on the back door. fuck. I thought I had skated free from the harem of drunkards I had inhabited over the past several blurry hours. it was clear they weren’t through with me just yet. my kingdom of comfort would have to wait.

I opened the door. to my surprise, the Greek stood before me. shirtless, panting.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

he’d been part of our wandering army of minstrels at the beginning of our bender, the pre-dusk midst of happy hour. and then poof! he vanished, a presumed fallen soldier.

“I need a shower, a change of clothes and don’t ask any questions.” he replied, beelining towards my bathroom.

I kept the inquiries to myself and took to the task, gathering a mishmash of spare threads and wondering what in the motherfuck was going on.