The Drunk Guy in the Child's Bed
Scott Garson

A drunk guy takes a Percocet from a kid with bangs, grave, meaningful. On the moonlit porch he reaches for that, the drunk guy does. But then the bangs kid is gone, and the party begins moving in pieces, wrong. Boogie Nights is on a TV, and around it people squirm. The drunk guy pulls himself out of that deal just in time to avoid throwing up. He holds onto the bannister. Upstairs is a bedroom fashioned for the child the host's girlfriend has taken away. A rocket ship hangs from a string in the dark. He lies down. The child-sized bed is comfortable, and he wishes the spirits had cool powdered arms to lift him up out of his eyes. What he does then: he dreams, without knowing he's fallen asleep, and when he wakes up, pages of nightmare are falling away. Some figure keeps entering. A screen door keeps banging. Somebody's devil's food birthday cake keeps getting taken. The drunk guy is thinking, No, No.