Chapter 4

Maybe that old saying, ‘misery loves company’ was true. I woke of the next morning on my super comfortable sofa (Not!). Anybody else want to try sleeping on something that was probably older than you? Things might have been in great shape once, but no way now, no how could anything that ‘listed to port’ 30 degrees be considered comfortable. Wasn’t there some kind of rule or law even that made you get something new every 30 or 40 years? If not, there should be one.

I’m joshing you. It was not the sofa ruining my sleep at night, it was the whole situation. A few days ago ... Hell, was it only a few days ago I actually was a free man? The last image in my mind was three beauties prancing on some beach, they were smiling at me and then...

You try sleeping like that. Then reality sets in and it’s like those three bombshells become three daughters and you realize what other guys may be thinking. It’s not slavery to keep them locked up and to throw away the key, is it? I could release them when they understood better the things that could happen to them. Maybe when they turned thirty, or thirty-five. We would at least try, then.

It was 5:45 am, I just knew the time as I literally rolled out of bed, that list to port you see. This time I was on the floor and my head hit it pretty hard. I looked up, grabbed the marshmallow they were calling a pillow, tried for the blanket on the sofa without any luck and went back to sleep on the floor.

In my dream, my loving family was up, and in the kitchen. I could smell the eggs, bacon and frying sausage. The aroma of fresh coffee was getting a response, my five eyes were all opening up very slowly; not wide, mind you, but they definitely no longer shut.

Just need to open them a little wider now then the there was a sight and smell I had not had since when I was in college. It was not breakfast I was whiffing, no sir, it ‘t’were’ my old shoes (Second person, future plu-perfect of t’was, like that ‘night of Xmas’). It was enough that I was sure that the stink could be the secret formula to some war-winning weapon.

I did sit up, more like gunning for a fight. I now knew what a snowball in the Arctic must have been feeling. It was cold, freezing even.

Don’t let anybody fool you! Arizona gets cold at night. Even sitting on the floor made reality began to settle in. Edgar said something about a bird rapping, tapping, on the door. He never had three sleeping beauties, obviously entered in a contest to determine who could dismantle a camper by snoring. That bedroom door looked like it actually was moving. I was intrigued, perhaps if I could record it, with the proper lyrics, a teen song sensation might result, I would be rich. Then I remembered, I already was, as far as my needs were concerned, anyway.

It was about then I realized I faced an important decision. Hit the head, eat food, look for a real pillow to sleep on, or climb up on the sofa and get under a blanket.

Choices, but a man will always choose the path of least resistance. The smelly shoes made it some record-setting distance for me to jump up front. I found the white two inch square marshmallow thing, and found if you pulled yourself into as small a ball as possible and were able to cozy up to 20 years worth of dust bunnies living under a couch, it was not too bad.

They found me curled up, but not ‘living’ under a copy of the ‘Mesa Gazette’ and ‘The Tombstone Epitaph’ they were both older than I was. Hey, don’t knock it, it sure beats freezing to death. There was some other rule that must apply to the situation they found me in that morning. If three of god’s creatures were going to kick and poke you until you are awake, aren’t they supposed to, by some law, still be wearing the short lacy things? Denim jeans do not fit that description.