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Message: <blockquote data-quote="loxmyth" data-source="post: 945282" data-attributes="member: 1255">Jason's homeBoston, MassachussetsOctober 2002, around 10 AMJason sat up slowly in his bed, tasting the alcohol on his breath.  He still felt exhausted, of course, like he'd been running a marathon in his sleep and had only stopped long enough to wake up.  Beads of sweat coat his face, his heavily heaving chest, his palms.  He blinks as the brilliant shafts of sunlight flood his face with blinding warmth, lurches to his feet.  His head still throbbed, and the inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper.  First things first, he thought with an inward sigh, struggling to exercise his will over his reluctant body.Shrugging out of his dirty, dishevelled clothing, he headed for the small dirty closet-sized place he called his bathroom.  Turning the cold water tap full on, he cupped his hands under the faucet while staring at his reflection.  Man, I need a shave.  And some more sleep.  And a beautiful woman to sweep me off my feet, while I'm at it.  Finally he lowered his face into his waiting hands, lapping thirstily.  He drank deeply and for a long time from the pool of clear refreshing water he held in his hands, then straightened up and pulled the cabinet open.  Row upon row of over-the-counter pharmaceuticals stared back at him."Let's see," he wondered aloud, "there's gotta be some Tylenol in here somewhere."  He shuffled through the forest of squat plastic bottles, looking for the cure to his migraine.  Damn. he thought bitterly.  Damn damn!Four minutes later he was hastily dressed and heading down the street to find the pharmacy and a strong pot of black coffee.</blockquote>

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