Lost In The Sauce ( Shots )

My eyes are probably bloodshot. Shot from seeing too much too soon and living too fast to be concerned with brakes. 

Shot from the shots of liquor I downed in succession; I never learn my lesson.

 My head pounds as my feet hit the ground, turn around to observe the naked bronze back of a female I met last night working retail. 

See, her hours were 10-6 and she walked through my door around 6 to 10. 

9:54…yeah, sometime around then. 

We turned on a movie then pulled out the bottle. For every problem, a straight shot. She asked for a chaser, and I told her I never would chase her. However, I’d replace her unless she kept the pace up.

 Straight up. One shot.

 Straight up. Two shots.

 Three shots in and all her problems come out. Daddy issues and debts, fake friends and bad sex. I listen intently as a pour another round.

 Straight Up.

 Four Shots, straight to the head. She’s laying in my lap with her face on my legs. I tell her I’ll console her, she cries, ask me to hold her, and now we’re in bed when I find out she’s a moaner.

  Time flies, we hit peaks, she gasp, grips the sheets and now she’s asleep without a worry in mind. She holds my body tight, wraps her legs in mine. We both drift asleep until the story rewinds.