It was early...

Very early... 9am to be precise...

A time that I have forgotten even existed over the last few years due to living, as I do, mostly at night when the streets are quiet and the sun is busy heating the Hawaiian shoreline. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa at about 5:30(ish) having spent an hour or so alternating between watching a film about surfing and watching the beauty next to me sleep.

She'd fallen asleep an hour or so earlier while listening to me explain the difference between a conventional "Screamer" Two-Stroke 500cc Grand Prix motorcycle, a "Big Bang" Two-Stroke 500cc Grand Prix bike and the new breed 990cc Four-Stroke of MotoGP motorcycle and Richard Pryor asking if it was Something [he] said.

I've no idea which of us was most responsible for her falling asleep but the chances are it was a bit of both, the late hour and the fact that both of us had had enough drink to easily kill any one of the hoodies that hang around the shops at night in cities all around the country.

I'd spent three and a half hours flitting between the realm of being half awake and being half asleep where I had disturbing, drunken, dreams of drowning, thanks to the fish tank across the room gurgling and splashing a constant stream of water into the top of the tank. She'd awoken at some point after I had fell asleep and had brought a pillow for me to rest my head on and placed the same duvet over me that I had earlier placed over her when she had dropped off into the land of dreams before heading off to her bed.

To wake myself up I slapped the side of my face. "Wake up." I said aloud, hoping that somehow in giving myself a direct command and a brief flash of pain I'd shed the sleepy feeling and sober up. This didn't do much to wake me so I slapped myself again. WHACK! went my hand as it caught the side of my face, and also my ear, and instantly realised I had given myself quite a smack.

To take my mind off of the stinging in my face and the ringing in my ear I picked up the empty bottles and glasses into the kitchen that were sitting on the table and put them in the bin. I folded the duvet and put it and the pillow back where it belonged. As I returned to the living room I bounced off the door frame and staggered towards the kitchen to put the kettle on for some coffee.

Behind me I heard her say "Morning" in the honeyed tone of someone who is still half asleep, groggy and ever so slightly hungover.
"Hello you." I said, putting more empty beer bottles into the bucket and forgetting to switch the kettle on. "How're you feeling?" I asked.
"Rough." She replied.
"I'm probably still a bit drunk." I said, remembering that I had drank almost a full bottle of Cherry Sourz, a good few strong rum and cokes and about a half dozen shots of some kind of strawberry and cream vodka mixture that instantly curdled when poured into the shot glasses due to the dregs of the Sourz and the rum that coated the glasses.

"Are you OK?" I asked a few minutes later when we'd had a cup of coffee and had properly woken up.
"Yeah, I'm fine" She replied.
"And how about us?" I enquired, remembering the previous night. "Are we OK?"
"Yeah, of course." She replied.
"Good." I said.

And I meant it.