Part 1: Fifty Shades of Gangrene

I woke up in a motel room I'd never seen. No matter how hard I've thought about it since, I have no memory of how I got there or what happened the night before.

There were beer bottles all over the side table. Not to mention a completely empty eighth of Jack Daniels. What looked like some kind of fancy foreign wine bottle, also drained, was filled with cigarette butts. The TV, one of those old boxy sets, had fallen back against the wall, and in the corner an armchair was lying on its side. Feathers were everywhere; one of the pillows had been torn open.

I was pretty sure I was alone.

No one was in bed with me. When I leaned over to check the floor I saw only more feathers and more beer bottles scattered across the carpet—along with my clothes. All of them. My jeans were in a pile against the wall with my underwear still bunched inside. My bra hung over the one armchair that was still standing.

I realized, only now, that I was naked. . .

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