Episode 4

With his attempt to get to work on cleaning the spew, the spins only increase in their intensity. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself, as not to disturb the neighbors who lie just past the paper-thin drywall in their own white-trash paradise. The spins. He could deal with the headaches and the effects of dehydration which were sure to come later, but the spins were an entirely different matter. The spins were by far the worst part of excessively imbibing alcohol. Hell, it wasn’t even so much a spin, as it was a shaking of the visible universe. Spins were like a carnival ride; shaking was just wrong. Just like some 9.0 earthquake striking the Far East, but instead of the ocean cresting into a great tsunami, the vomit would crest from your esophagus in great, painful, heaving torrents.
“Ummph!” He jumped into action, trying his damnedest to keep the oncoming torrent at bay. In the dark, he managed to bang his shoulder on the bedroom doorway. While moving full-speed, Rudy’s little toe caught the corner of the bathroom door jam, sending bolts of pain; pain so exquisite he could see it in white flashes before his eyes like heat-lightening. “Ummmmmmmmmmmm,” he groaned loudly while trying to keep his trap closed. So much for not waking the neighbors; oh well, fuck’em.
Rudy made his way to the toilet and relieved himself of his gastric burden in many painful, heaving spasms. Once done, he stayed kneeling, sweating, and reeling from the exertion. A solitary tear dripped from his left eye. Drunk or no, he still had to question his motives, and his sanity. “Why do I do this shit,” he croaked, half expecting an answer from a deity whose existence he more than doubted. In His/Her/Its own strange way, that deity granted Rudy mercy. He fell unconscious on the bathroom linoleum for the next two hours.


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