blight

What The Crow Eats

Hudson couldn't recall his last hangover nor the one before that. He did, however, remember his first. The newly grouted tile on the bathroom floor in Lenny Rickle's basement had caressed his ailed body in a cool embrace during what were sure to be his final moments. His contorted face displayed pleas for mercy, desperate attempts to garner the pity of each soul housed in the scraps of rubbish splayed around him. He'd whispered a soft orison to the goldenrod-tinted cotton swab abandoned near the toilet bowl. This prayer preceded the inevitable pledge to never drink again spoken to a sweeping congregation of loose hairs and dust bunnies. A vain travail.