We got home after dark. I was lying in my bed that night trying to sleep, though I was too tired to sleep at that point. I kept screaming at myself, really making a racket.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” I asked myself finally.
“You,” I responded. “Who else?”
I shouted back angrily, “Stop talking to me!” Then, “I’m trying to get a little sleep here.”
That’s when the phone rang. For some reason I picked it up. It was Leroy.
“Hey. How’re’ya doing?” He sang out.
“Wonderful.” I could hear a lot of noise on the other end. He wasn’t at home.
“So…I’m sitting here having a few beers at The Summer Palace. Some band’s supposed to play. I don’t know. Wanna come over and join me?” He was screaming over the ambient roaring of the place. I couldn’t hear him that well.
“Sorry Leroy. It’s too loud. I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying.” I lied. “Go outside or something and call me back.” I hung up.
The phone rang a few more times but I didn’t answer it. I just lay there trying not to move. It wasn’t that hard of a thing to do.
Then I got up and went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and sat at my desk feverishly scribbling all of this down on hundreds of napkins. Now I’ve run out of napkins. Finally, I can sleep.