Champagne Sunrise

    Oh Jesus!  What is this light squirming through the blinds like vicious vipers?—their mouths open and fangs gleaming in the sun.  I open my eyes.  Ouch, shit!  They’re biting me!  They’re crawling all over my chest and burrowing into my skull.  I’M BLIND!  I’M DYING!  My head throbs and my stomach churns.  It’s the worst possible feeling known to man, worse than the pains of childbirth, decapitation, or being drawn and quartered by a fleet of draft horses.  Yes, my friend…I have a hangover.

    The last thing I remember I was finishing off the last beer out of a twelve pack while my roommate vaped Delta-8 and we “vibed” to some tunes.  Also I might have had a few shots of whiskey.  I normally crash around 8:30PM, but was up well past midnight.  And while I’m usually awake by 5:00AM, I had apparently slept until the terrible rays of the rising sun bled into my room and put out my recently opened eyes.  I needed sunglasses.  I needed water.  I needed something greasy on my stomach to soak up the remaining alcohol.  I needed a hair of the dog that bit me.

    After getting dressed, I hit the road in search of a joint with a brunch menu, my mind wandering into deep meditations on eggs, hash browns, and Bloody Mary’s.  I found this one place that was only seven miles away called Ruby Sunshine.  What I didn’t fully comprehend at the time was that it would take 45 minutes to clear those seven miles only for my navigation system to inform me I had “Arrived” at my destination when I could not ascertain the location of the restaurant, a sign, or even a parking lot.  Annoyed, I punched in “Metro Diner” and drove across town.  

    Soon enough I had a plate full of eggs Benedict with tomatoes, avocado, and a healthy portion of greasy hash browns.  They were out of Bloody Mary mix so I elected the weaker alternative for my mid-morning bender and went with a mimosa served in a fancy stemmed glass.  I seemed to be the only one drinking, but I didn’t care.  The champagne was just enough to take the edge off to enjoy the rest of my adventuring.

    I drove out to Folly Beach where this bald old cheat swindled me out of $10 for parking at the newly built pier.  Past the gift shop, to my left, was a restaurant I could tell, without ever having ordered a meal from there, that it was an overly priced tourist trap serving up the finest in mediocre quality.  A few yards away stood a small kiosk of a bar well-stocked with a full display of liquor.  I wanted a mixed drink, something to mirror the mood of the morning, something light like a mint julep or a mojito, but it was too early and the bartender was still cleaning and arranging plastic chairs around the tables.  The air was cool with a slight southern breeze blowing crossways over the pier, but the heat of the day was gradually rising until I began to feel uncomfortably warm in my camouflage hoodie.  Green-brown waves crested into pale white caps that crashed against a shoreline dotted with beachgoers beneath large multi-colored umbrellas.  Up ahead an attractive dark haired girl leaned down to kiss her equally attractive girlfriend who sat on a wooden bench overlooking the edge of the pier.  The girlfriend stood up and her ass jiggled for days.  I walked behind them at a good distance full of admiration for the finer nuances of Charleston.

    What disturbed me was the lack of people actually utilizing the pier for fishing.  The handful of people with rods in the water seemed uninterested and uninvolved with their particular sport as if it were just an excuse to pass the time, a thoughtless act to show they were on vacation like someone who smokes a cigarette to prove they are on break at work.  My future plans to fish at that particular spot were dampened with doubt that the pier afforded an ample amount of semi-pelagic species swimming around.  I returned to my car a little disappointed and left for the island and a quick lunch of local beer and duck fat fries at The Tattooed Moose.  Not a bad day for my first solo trip adventuring.  More to come Sunday.