The bright light of a midmorning sun wakes Travis from a dead slumber, its heat warming his already hot face. Disoriented, he opens his eyes to discover that he is not where he suspected he would be. Pieces of recognition slip into place as his dried up eyes wander over walls, photos, road signs and posters, eventually falling on a coffee table running perpendicular to his vision, littered with beer bottles and plastic cups. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Travis knows now where he is, sleeping on the couch in Ian’s room. Across from him in fact, Ian sleeps soundly, precisely where Travis and John had found their errant friend the day before. Travis laughs quietly to himself in disbelief as a cool wind blows in through the open windows.

As soon as he lifts his head to check his surroundings, he regrets it. The small muscular movement required for him to lift his head up sends shockwaves of pain through his skull and sets off a throbbing—a too-familiar pounding. He immediately sets his head back down, and opens his mouth for the first time, only to discover that it is virtually stuck shut by a cottony slime and an evil taste; like he’d licked an ashtray and washed it down with melted styrofoam. Rolling his head to one side, Travis watches Ian sleep, his arms wrapped around his small frame, peaceful like an unplugged blender. In his friend’s current posture, there is no evidence of the dervish nature that normally consumes him.

Someone else was asleep in the armchair, but Travis can make out no more than a pair of legs without moving his head. Unfortunately, the identity of this mystery character, capable of sleeping upright, isn’t inspiration enough for Travis to tease the pain. Gradually, he falls back into a pleasant half-asleep state, from which vantage point he can watch the painted horses spin and kick.

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy

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