I knew I was in the wrong dumpster because this wasn't next to me
This also meant that I would have to go find my apartment, and without keys I would have to ask that dickhead Steve to let me in, and Steve hates drugs and people who smell like they just slept in a dumpster they didn’t recognize. I missed Lindsay, she would always know what to do. However, since a bitch is not one of my numerous problems, I forced the idea of her leathery, drug-pocked flesh and stringy hair from my mind; sex can wait. What I needed was a shower so that fucker Steve wouldn’t know I was on all of the drugs and that I slept in a dumpster that isn’t even mine.
My dumpster has less bears, and more
Fortunately, finding a place to shower was going to be the easiest thing I was going to do that day. After clumsily crushing a homeless woman while climbing out of not my dumpster, I attempted to gauge my general location. I assumed I couldn’t be more than an hour’s walk from my apartment in Lower Manhattan, and the accent of the angry homeless woman with the now crushed femur confirmed that I was still in New York, so I kicked her in the face, informed her that she was not one of my problems, and fled. I didn’t have time for bitches; I smelled really bad.
Fortunately I was only fifteen minutes away from home, so all I had to do was get cleaned up. I checked the time on my broken watch and phone I didn’t have, which didn’t help. However, judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it was daytime.
I could tell because the sky looked sort of like this.
I had two options, I could go down to the YMCA and shower there, or I could sneak through an open apartment window on the second floor of the building and steal a dip in their shower. Since getting raped is not on my list of "Great Ways to Spend a Hangover", I opted for trespassing, because along with that comes the potential for something that is on that list: having sex with some guy's hot wife. I realised that it's a pipe dream, considering that most beautiful married women have noses, but a man can dream.
If you're into Voldemort sex.
Ignoring the sobbing homeless woman, I climbed up onto the dumpster and climbed a pipe conveniently close to the open window. Being hungover, this was not the easiest thing, but fear of that butterface Steve being a dick strengthened my resolve. After rolling into the bedroom and smashing a bedside lamp to bits and not being immediately killed by anyone, I concluded that the home was empty. I would have to leave a note telling the owner to keep the window closed next time.
I threw my filthy clothes on the floor in front of the bathroom and hopped in the shower, a large, luxurious affair that I figured the owners must have had redone, and took the most relaxing, refreshing, feminine shower of my life.
My hangover all but gone, I swung the curtain aside in search for a towel, screamed like a prepubescent girl, and fell backward in uninhibited terror. Standing before me was an angry homeless woman with a pair of scissors. It appeared that woman decided to make herself one of my many problems. And there wasn't a god damn towel in sight.
To be continued...