A narrative
It all started with the sound of that same alarm clock, one of those old-school ones with the bells. The hammer clanged back and forth in a nauseating dance that reminded Jeremy of the hangover he soon had to nurse. 2:15am. He groaned and accepted the fate of his near future. He got up and made himself some coffee and finished half a bowl of sativa he didn’t get around to finishing the night before.
“Why do I do this to myself…” he exhaled in a puff of smoke.
He checked his phone. No new messages. His mom was the only person that talked to him anymore, and the calls started slowing down this last month. When he wasn’t hurting for money, and things seemed to be going well she didn’t call him as much. He only got a call on Sundays when she knew he didn’t work and she would inevitably say something about his life choices that would put him on edge and start an argument. “I love my job!” He would happily lie to her and himself, and she would rebut, “I can’t see how stacking boxes could be very rewarding, but it’s your life.”
It wasn’t his mom he was hoping to get messages from though, but rather someone from the party the night before, if he could call it that. About 4 hours prior, he left the party to get some sleep instead of staying for a few more shots. The conversation was awkward and he said some things he regretted. He would have to take care of it later though, he was already late for work.