Chapter 6
I rise with the sun from another dreamless night’s sleep. The thick fog clouding my brain has lifted, the grit in my eyes is gone. My old friend “optimism” has stopped by for a visit but skips away when I think of Cyrus and the snot-fest I had in his shirt the other night. And he saw me singing, not some sweet ballad either. He witnessed a full-blown, drunken performance that involved a pole and a song with a passionate chorus. My cheeks flame thinking about it.
Two things must be done. First, I need to face this head on and apologize for puking on his shoes. Or were those Oz’s shoes? Shoot, I can’t remember. Then there’s the pop I threw in his face. Truthfully, I’m still on the fence about that one. He may have deserved it. In any case, this situation requires damage control.
