Category: Eric Jerome Dickey

Eric Jerome Dickey

Then she called Matthew.He answered, “Where the fuck are you? I’ve been calling you for hours.”She said, “I was asleep. Just woke up. What’s the problem?””Don’t tell me you’re still in your hotel room in your bed.””Didn’t I say I just woke up? Still in bed. Needed some sleep. Just waking up. . . .””Is that right?”. . . “Where are you right now?””Antigua motherfucking Yacht Club. Room twenty-fucking-nine. Sitting on a . . . four-poster bed that has a damn mosquito net pulled back so I know I can see what the fuck I see. And I see an empty four-poster bed . . . But hell, maybe I’m wrong, because I know I didn’t marry a goddamn liar. So I guess if I’m in your room and you’re in the goddamn bed, just waking up, then either I am as blind as a fucking bat or you must be fucking invisible.