The Morning After

I wake up with my head splitting. It feels like I got hit by a sledge hammer. Which, I remember, is exactly what happened. My alarm clock, to my dismay is still beeping loudly and reads 10 a.m.  

I take the coldest and fastest shower ever. Spinning dry and pulling on my black slacks and polo shirt simultaneously.

 Alfredo's Pizza is stitched into the olive green shirt above my left peck, along with the business' telephone number.  I hate my day job but still I preferred this uniform to the tights and mask I wear to fight crime. Go figure.

My Chevy Nova spits and sputters to life. The smell of gasoline wafts through the cabin. Slowly the fumes provide an oxygen deprived relief from the headache. The screaming siren brings it back. Damn this sonic hearing.

I pull to the shoulder taking out my license and registration. I know that even on the best of days I won't leave here without a speeding ticket. I should've run to work, it would've been quicker but I could hardly explain delivering pizzas without a car.

I hand him the paper work he requests which he returns promtly (as soon as he checks it in his cruiser).

"You really should take care of those parking tickets." He says handing me a yellow slip of paper which I fold and place in the glove compartment with the others. 

When I finally pull into the lot at work trouble is standing there waiting for me.

"You're late again John.  I'm going to have to let you go."

"I'll just take my check before I go." He unwillingly hands me what I'm due.

When I fight crime I can't seem to lose but things just never seem to work out for me on my days off.

The End

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