🎾

So it was with some surprise and considerable anxiety that Max woke up that morning. The undeniable smell of hotel air hitting his nostrils and the blinding light sneaking past the curtains inspired a surge of adrenaline in his bloodstream. He glanced over at the woman in the bed next to him. He did not recognize her. She was beautiful, at least, even if she was sleeping with her mouth open.

Max rubbed his chin as he threw his legs off the bed, his mind immediately constructing the story that would cover his tracks. He got up too fast and whiskey-tinged bile rose up in his throat. He tried to place in time his most recent memory.

Without a coherent narrative of either truth or impending fiction coming together in his muddled thoughts, he turned to the more immediate question: shower or no shower. Arriving clean and smelling of soap might be worse than arriving filthy and smelling of booze. A navy shower, then.

Having wiped down all the pertinent bits, Max turned to his next task: locating keys, then car...