53. I wake because of several things: my mouth’s so dry, the bed’s unfamiliar (and so are all the sounds around me), and there’s this dread that pokes in from last night – so many things are a blur, I’m not sure (and can’t be sure) I didn’t fuck up in some way. That’s drinker’s remorse – that panic that arises in the vacuum of the haze that I’ve done something wrong, that I’ve lost my wallet or something else important, or maybe there’s something that I simply can’t remember, and won’t remember, until cops or somebody comes calling. But some things piece together quickly: Stan, drinking, strip club, stripper’s…