the neck tie

The  Necktie He woke up fully dressed, minus his tie, in the lumpy bed of a third-rate hotel, which had a fridge beside the TV The last semi-civilized place, one up from sleeping rough  The room reeked of depravity, and a dusty curtain  protecting the inhabitants from the cruel world outside The news was about a woman who strngled with a tie He sat up, and he had lost his tie The tie was green with black dots on it, should he ring the TV station and ask what color the tie is?  Or should he remorsefully and fearfully sober confess  to a murder he could not remember having committed The fridge rumbled, he got up, opened it, in the hope of  finding a cold beer; there, wrapped around a bottle  whisky, a red necktie