harry woke up with a migraine, his head laying in a puddle of puke, and let me just say, it wasn't the least bit attractive nor appealing to the nose. the bar was quiet, probably likely, considering it was three a.m. in the morning. the bartender was no where to seen, so it was up to harry to deal with his own mess.
he flipped over the counter top that separated the customers and the bartender, pulling a rag out from the shelves, and cleaning up his throw up, as much as it pained his eyes and nose. when he accomplished the rather disgusting task, he wrung the rag under the faucet, decontaminating any remnants of puke. after his little cleaning session, harry jogged to the bathroom, thoroughly srcubbing his hands. when he had dried off his water-filled fingers with a paper towel, he proceeded to dunk his head in the sink, rinsing off all the excess puke from his curls.
after blow-drying his hair, harry stepped out of the bathroom, in search of a pill to ease his headache. he sighed abruptly, coming up short in his search.
twenty minutes later, harry stood with a cup and pill in hand, ready to down it in one gulp. once he successfully popped the pill into his mouth, harry put the cup in the sink and exited the bar, but not before writing a letter to the manager showing his gratitude for not kicking him out. the manager had let harry stay for a few days, actually, so harry was extremely thankful. harry then locked the door from the inside before shutting the door and leaving.
just as harry was devouring a donut from a shop nearby, his phone vibrated, signaling a new text message.
:from beverly
to harry:
hi, sorry about leaving you last night, harry. i'd love to finish up those drinks tonight though. meet you there at 9? x