Delayed

I should already be asleep. I can feel the incipient headache creeping up my neck to settle on the crown of my head as the booze leaves my body, while Katie breathes heavily beside me, asleep or passed out.

I put on Spacemen 3 and listen to Jason Spaceman moan about Jesus dying for his sins over distorted and delayed guitars, exactly the sort of regretful music that both inspires and pays for hangovers. It's late, and there's nothing to do but indulge more, or go to sleep and wake up tomorrow to finish the pain that I've only put off for a little while.