He woke up, rolled over, and immediately noticed a pounding sensation in his head. He coughed, rubbed his eyes, and then his brain began processing thoughts.
"Fuck," he said, as he began to remember his night before. He had blacked out once again, gone overboard on the Jack Daniels. He looked next to him and saw the empty bottle staring back at him. "I hate you," he told the bottle, rubbing his turning stomach.
He looked around him, he was on the floor with his bed next to him. Apparently, he had used the rug on his floor as a blanket. The only thing he was happy about was that he was in his room, and not in some ally on the streets or a stranger's bathroom floor.
Drinking alone again, not a good idea. Work had been bugging him a lot lately. The repetitive, mundane work of standing behind the counter at a gas station. There had to be something more for him in life, but he couldn't find it, thus, he drank to take a break from it instead.
"I need a cigarette," he stated to himself. Something needed to calm him down and he decided that would definitely be perfect. "Or better yet," he added, "I need some weed." That would be even more perfect, and help cure his hangover. He stood up, holding his head while listening to his stomach growl, and made his way over to his desk. He opened the second drawer down in his desk, where he usually kept his stash of marijuana.
He must have smoked it all last night, and didn't even remember it. "Fuck," he said again. Word of the day.
He settled for a cigarette instead. He breathed the smoke in deep, and as he exhaled it felt relaxing, as if his mind was clear and he became calm. It allowed him a chance to think rationally.
Today was a day for change, he decided, this was no life to lead.