I live in Denver, Colorado and drink too much. The End.
I live in Denver, Colorado and drink too much. 
Written several months ago after taking home a stranger from a bar:
They fucked to the Clash – fully clothed and drunk off cheap whiskey. It was a meaningless fuck, but David needed carnal release from his emotions. Recently, he found lust to be a suitable escape from the stresses and realities that clouded Life. It served as proof that he could feel.
Eventually, the sex stopped, and he refused to comment on the situation. Excess alcohol kept his tongue in check for once. After the booze dulled, the girl sat up in bed to light a cigarette. She puffed nervously and picked a scab off her arm. Each second ticked away like a vintage Felix the Cat clock, prolonging the tension in the air. David faced a sexual stalemate. Estrogen and sensitivity unexpectedly raced into the room, and an uncomfortable silence stirred the air.
The girl loudly exhaled. “Well, I had fun. You?”
A pause hit. It shot his through his spine like the aftermath of an Irish car bomb. David choked a grunt and rolled off the bed. Each panel of the hardwood floor wrecked his nerves and thrashed his composure. It was already a “fuck-you” kind of morning, and nothing seemed better than leaving. He felt the twinge of early AM delirium and stumbled through a heap of beer-soaked T-shirts, girly under-garments, and Converse sneakers. After retrieving his pants, he dressed himself without a single glance toward the motionless figure on the bed.
“So you want to hang out sometime?” she asked in an detached attempt to hide her true emotions, smiling weakly at her one-night stand. David noticed the yellowing of her teeth – fucking gross. Instead of commenting though, he grabbed a cigarette from her pack on the nightstand and searched thoroughly for his keys.
Hmmm, he thought as he passed through the bedroom door frame and retrieved his scattered shoes. Flashbacks of the previous night streaked across his thoughts. His memories stacked one on top of the other until a solid recollection of the previous night formed amidst his thoughts. While passing through the empty house and through the front door, he pulled out the girl’s phone number. She left it on a stained bar napkin, marking each corner with smiley faces.
David probably wouldn’t call her.
