The Hole In The Curtain

The hole in the curtain was of problematic size. It most definitely wasn't an unnoticeable flaw in the green thing that greatly resembled paper. Closer examination might have revealed to Jim that it indeed was a big piece of pine-green carton. Then again, he knew far less about curtains than he knew about paper. He knew nothing at all of paper or carton. Thus, he had concluded, it was obviously pointless to approach the curtain with the intention of obtaining the knowledge of the material it was made of. Moreover, he noted, he didn't really give a shit since the curtain wasn't his anyway.
         Despite his indifference of the material of the curtain, the problem with the hole still remained, which obviously was the size of it. He found it hardly worth the effort or the time to patch it up with a piece of paper (if that indeed was the material needed). He had considered the option of covering it with the almighty ever gray duct tape, which he always carried with him wherever he went. Except for that one occasion…
         He shook his head as violently as he thought his hangover would allow him to without feeling the flood of pain in the back of his head, in an attempt to rid himself of the memories of that night far away from what he called civilization. There are some things a man should have on him at all times and he had bitterly learned that lesson. He would never go camping again, not even if he had duct tape with him.
         Unfortunately it seemed that he still hadn't learned the lesson of slow and careful moves when suffering of hangover. The pain struck him without mercy, igniting stars in his vision to light the black void of his thoughts with a shimmering suffering. He wanted to cry out of pain, but it seemed as if there was no substance to carry his voice, not in his mouth or lungs at least.
         And as improbable.. Crap, this is impossible! ...as it was, he didn’t have duct tape.
         Glancing at the hole in the curtain, he made a frail attempt at pushing the pain back by returning to the problem at hand. Though frail it was, against all odds, it was successful. For a short moment he considered thanking the numerous gods he didn't believe in, but discarded the idea as it dawned to him that all the devils he believed in wouldn't let that go unnoticed. With that came the realization that he should actually stop believing, just in general, in anything and become a skeptic.
         Are skeptics plagued by hangover? 'There might be a hangover, or there might not be a hangover, I'm rather skeptic about it.’ That would certainly make a difference to the long worn out 'God Damn what a hangover!'.
         He was rather pleased with the idea, and scribbled it in to his notebook, which he found lying next to the bed, right under two hazy lines that he didn't remember writing down, but immediately recognized as addresses to a strip bar and to a brothel.
         There seemed to be the shortest of moments when he, and the world with him, froze.
         Bemused and feeling slightly guilty, so slightly that he misinterpreted it to be hunger, he took his eyes off the hole. The few minutes that sun had shone through the hole, straight in to his eye making him wake up, had already passed. Thus, also the problem was solved, especially since it wasn't even his curtain and he highly doubted he would ever see it again. He took a look at the massive blanket next to him. It seemed to be breathing steadily. Seeing the midnight dark hair crawling away from under the edges, he felt the hunger in his stomach grow, eventually breaking out to a full blown wave of guilt. Oh shit, not again... I'm sorry Sue...
         He swung his feet over the edge of the massive bed, that seemed to have hosted some kind of a battle, quickly gathered his clothes from under the bed - where he always put them, in case he needed to take off quick, which he wouldn't want to do naked or at least without taking his clothes with him - and snuck out of the room, half jumping half diving in to his clothes as he made his way through the hallway in 4.38 seconds, and slipped out of the door as quietly as he was able to. The echo of the soft click of the lock still echoed in his ears as he realized he didn't have his wallet in his pocket.
         This, for thinking of thanking them..
         He ducked and tried to peer through the mail box, which, differently from the other door he had seen when slipping out of the door, seemed to be a hole in the door. He thanked absolutely nothing for that. He didn't even think of it. But he did curse the devils when he saw his wallet laying there, right in the middle of the hallway, on an ugly, weirdly worn black carpet, which also had some distantly familiar magazines laying on it.
         He knew there wasn't much of a choice and boldly rang the bell. Here I go again, then..
         He frowned.


         The ringing of the doorbell woke her up. Without bothering to crawl out from under the blanket, she said as lazily as she could manage: "Get the door.. please."
         Silence.
         She swung the blanket away, regretting it immediately as that damn annoying hole in the curtain let the sun strike her straight in to the eye. Even though the sun had viciously attacked her, it didn't take her long to perceive that she was alone in the bed. She swung her gaze through the open door in to the hallway, and saw a black leather wallet laying on the beautiful, newly acquired blue carpet. She also gave a menacing look at her husband's pile of magazines laying there in the middle of the floor.
         Sue let out a heavy sigh. Jim, please, not today, I've got one hell of a hangover...