Guy woke up in some chick's bed.

She had short brown hair and unshaven arm pits. Her face was in the pillow. He thought her name was Glenda and they may have drunkenly discussed the films of Pedro Almodovar before coming back to her place for listless whisky sex. He creeped out of the of bed one limb at a time and the searched for his pants. It was cold. The bedroom was on the second story of what he figured was an old house in South East judging by the worn wood floors, built-ins, and the vaulted ceiling. Guy had snuck and sneaked out numerous bedrooms just like this one, sparsely decorated, books, records, and some mementos from a trip to South America or Asia. He spotted a casette of Me So Twangy on the floor and wondered where the fuck Glenda had gotten it. He picked it up. This is hardcore Austin stuff, old school even. Guy caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror Porky Piggin' it this girl's room, going through her shit. His phone rang and he dropped the cassette causing a small ruckus that failed to rouse whatshernuts.