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Caritas Club // Sam Axe // OPEN to anyone/everyone
The sun began its ascent without his authorization and continued quietly on until it reached above the crest of his dashboard and flooded his eyelids. The red light was angry and roused him from drunken slumber that had progressed into a hangover also without his authorization. If only he had the power to negate those two events he would have. It was too late.
"Turn out the lights," he muttered to no one aside from his perceived bedmate. The CTS sedan sat silently. The onslaught of UV light remained and he eventually opened them and shielded his face with a hand. "Ugh, mojitos and whiskey don't mix."
That was when it became apparent he was stiffly restricted to the modest mid-size sport sedan interior. He sat up, glancing around the cashmere leather and his bleary eyes settled on the sign that declared 'CARITAS'. His first thought was a hospital, as he'd been admitted to one bearing the name before, but this looked pleasant enough.
It was a bar. The perfect place to nurse a hangover and mull over yesterday's decisions.
Sam squinted, and patted himself down for his phone. It was in the front shirt pocket of his rumpled Hawaiian shirt. This particular item was a rusty red with glamorized Mai Tai cocktails crookedly splayed over it. Luckily his tan chino-style slacks didn't attract so much attention.
He became aware how stifling the car had become during a night of encapsulation. He opened the center console and found some Acqua de Gio and splashed it on. It wasn't a substitute for a shower but it was a good start to appearing like a civilized person. Sam eyed his gold Rolex. Ten-thirty in the morning. So much for appearing civilized.
"If it wasn't still morning, it just wouldn't be you, Sammy boy," he said to himself while combing back some gray hair in his rear view mirror's reflection. He coughed, clearing out the congestion of sleep and slid out.
A few minutes later, he was at the corner of the bar nursing a mojito. His phone was bordering on battery failure and that must have been what was affecting his signal to get in touch with Michael. As a last resort, he tried Maddie. As a last last resort, he tried Fiona.
He couldn't remember the last time calls didn't connect. With a perplexed expression, he stuck the straw from his mojito in his mouth and set the phone down and slid it a few inches away to stare at it confrontationally.
"Turn out the lights," he muttered to no one aside from his perceived bedmate. The CTS sedan sat silently. The onslaught of UV light remained and he eventually opened them and shielded his face with a hand. "Ugh, mojitos and whiskey don't mix."
That was when it became apparent he was stiffly restricted to the modest mid-size sport sedan interior. He sat up, glancing around the cashmere leather and his bleary eyes settled on the sign that declared 'CARITAS'. His first thought was a hospital, as he'd been admitted to one bearing the name before, but this looked pleasant enough.
It was a bar. The perfect place to nurse a hangover and mull over yesterday's decisions.
Sam squinted, and patted himself down for his phone. It was in the front shirt pocket of his rumpled Hawaiian shirt. This particular item was a rusty red with glamorized Mai Tai cocktails crookedly splayed over it. Luckily his tan chino-style slacks didn't attract so much attention.
He became aware how stifling the car had become during a night of encapsulation. He opened the center console and found some Acqua de Gio and splashed it on. It wasn't a substitute for a shower but it was a good start to appearing like a civilized person. Sam eyed his gold Rolex. Ten-thirty in the morning. So much for appearing civilized.
"If it wasn't still morning, it just wouldn't be you, Sammy boy," he said to himself while combing back some gray hair in his rear view mirror's reflection. He coughed, clearing out the congestion of sleep and slid out.
A few minutes later, he was at the corner of the bar nursing a mojito. His phone was bordering on battery failure and that must have been what was affecting his signal to get in touch with Michael. As a last resort, he tried Maddie. As a last last resort, he tried Fiona.
He couldn't remember the last time calls didn't connect. With a perplexed expression, he stuck the straw from his mojito in his mouth and set the phone down and slid it a few inches away to stare at it confrontationally.