Baby with a hat on

More often than not I wake up on someone’s couch.

I’ve almost become a pro at it. An unhealthy portion of my young adult years have been fueled by Stella, Sierra Nevada, and an assortment of microbrews on tap. Thanks to this influx of alcohol, you’ve probably gotten your own chance to see me peacefully sleep on your own couch. If not I have no idea what the hell is wrong with you. You should probably buy me a drink sometime.

Some mornings are better than others on the couch. Typically, I spend the first minute I’m conscious regretting I don’t have the presence of mind to have planned ahead and brought a binge drinking travel kit – much like a little kid would bring a kit to a sleepover. Shit for contacts. A god damn tooth brush. Sometimes I improvise this complete kit using the materials on hand covertly. I spend a few more minutes contemplating how I will ultimately get back to my car in some cases, which usually translates I’m going to walk 3-5 miles in 100 degree weather with a hangover. Really not any of this is very glamorous. Sometimes I need a reward for destroying my spinal column on a shit couch from the 1970’s. Today I received that award.

While sleeping peacefully on Brian’s shit couch from the 1970’s (probably more 1990’s), Brian, Trevor, and fellow Silver Miner Alex took a trip to the Yucca taproom. This field trip was unbeknownst to me. Because it is exceedingly difficult to get uninterrupted sleep on a shit couch probably more from the 1990’s as opposed to say, a fucking bed, I awoke sometime in the early morning to Trevor on the phone with his lady friend, every indication that he was fully coherent and accountable for his actions, etc. I drifted off back to sleep. The next time I woke up I requested the slumbering Brian to provide a lift back to my truck stationed at the local Casey Moore’s. I sat in the living room and turned on the Michael Jackson movie recorded on the DVR. Finally I heard a door open and someone, who I believed was Brian, moving around. Another half hour passed. Still no Brian.

Around this time my brother walked through the front door and started grabbing all his shit for work. He walks towards the direction of his room and immediately reemerges in the hall saying, ‘You guys have to see something’. Audrey, who was also there at the time, walked down the length of the hall as I followed closely behind and finally poked our head into Chuck’s room. There, sleeping like a baby in regards to the fetal position and lack of any clothing whatsoever (besides a hat somehow), was Trevor. So more rather a baby with a hat on.

“He better wash my sheets”, my brother remarked on his way off to work. I checked in on Trevor one last time when Brian finally woke up to take us home only to find him in a much less subtle position.