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Bacon with Breakfast

The sunrise was slow into the room.  He had picked a room with a western view to better see the water and sunset.  Morning as struggling with a curtained window.  Fighting it’s way through the cracks above and below the door ol’ Sol was going his best.  The evening had been cool and when he closed up the room he hadn’t set the air conditioning low enough.  Or maybe it didn’t work.  He awoke warm and with an easy jog of sweat.  The tub shower drained slowly but wasn’t more than a splashing annoyance.  Towels were bright and clean.  He’d seen worse.  Dreams hadn’t escaped him in the night.  First he had been swimming with a girl at his old high school.  Throwing their towels over the chain link fence they had climbed the fence for a moonlight swim.  Neither had stripped past their underwear.  Oddly childlike and innocent the adventure lacked erotic arousal; it was giggling, races and seeing who could hold their breath the longest.  A storm came and they went inside inside the changing rooms but she disappeared.  Going through the door he entered a nightclub.  A moment of panic before he realized he was not in his underwear but fully dressed.  Lights flashed and techno music thrummed but he was not at a rave, just a club, the kind that pop stars overdosed in with hot, long legged women.  Ugly hanger-on men filled the room.  A shrieking sound tried to pierce the noise that filled the room and a slow blue strobe bounced out from the walls.

Fire alarm.  Nobody seemed to notice.  “Fire!” he had yelled, “FIRE!!!”  No one even turned their head.  With both hands he grabbed a woman close to him.  “FIRE! GET OUT!”  he yelled at her.  She smiled.  “FIRE!”  He yelled.  She smiled.  With both hands now on her face he screamed “FIRE!” into her face.  She smiled and he woke up.

Now he was in the shower and he wanted bacon with breakfast.

About Brent Crash Allen

I Forgot, now you forget

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