The Last Pillow

Come home with us, the bar fly girls implored. I do not want to be an imposition, I said. But I was having a terrific time with them, So I finally wandered to their apartment in the city. It was too late to wake my folks, and I did not want to drive. So it seemed like a great idea at two-twenty-two a.m. There were other women there; too many to mention. On couches, the floor, under the furniture. I know because after finding three deeply snoring female in the only bedroom with an unlocked door, I looked under this bed and found two more women. Flatulence was happening all over this apartment. A male locker room smelled cleaner than this place. Desperate, I found a bathtub, but alas, one of the girls had beat me to it. “Sorry she said.” I think she had found the last pillow too. In desperation, I fought a stranger over the mildewing clothes pile in the laundry room. In our stupor, we finally agreed to share. I took a couple of old towels, and rolled them under my head. In the morning I knew why she looked familiar. She was actually my reflection in a mirror.