The sunlight beams through the blinds directly on my face and I can feel it in my sleep. I grunt, and I struggle to open my eyes. A sudden pain irradiates through my head as if a thousand knives were digging into my skull. A grimace springs on my face as I grit my teeth and clench my jaw. Then I remember I’ve drunk like a motherfucker last night.

This is the worst thing ever.  Drinking and forgetting about it only to wake up with a damn painful hangover. 

‘Damn!’

I feel nauseated and I promise myself I’ll never touch an alcoholic drink again -I’ve made this promise almost every time I woke up this way, to say the truth, but anytime I did it, I always meant it. The only problem is, perhaps, I just have a short memory in terms of hangovers. But then again, I’m a social drinker.

Last night was an exception.

Then I remember.

I widen my eyes and the beam of light flashing into my pupils make me squint my lids tightly. My heart starts thundering. I look at the clock over the door and I curse myself for having slept this late.

“Fuck!” I groan loudly, jumping out of my bed, wearing the first pair of jeans I find on the floor. Then I stomp barefoot to the restroom and when I turn the switch on, I frown at my own face.  My eyes are puffy and reddish. My hair is disheveled, and my stubble is longer than usual. I feel like shit. I’m still dizzy from the whiskey and beer I downed last night. My mouth is dry, and my tongue feels like sandpaper. I wish I could go back to bed and sleep for twelve hours. But I’m not going to let her go. I might be late already, but I’ll run to the airport and try to catch her. She needs to know how I feel about her.

I wash my face with cold water; then I go back to my room to quickly wear a clean white T-shirt and my leather jacket, where I keep my wallet, and I hurry to the door slamming it behind me as I race to the elevators.

“C’mon! C’mon!” I murmur between my teeth as the elevator goes down. But my frustration and anger reach unimaginable levels when I hear the ding on the fifth floor.

The doors slowly open and a man, resembling a yuppy from the eighties, nods at me and steps in.

I clench my jaw. I’m almost tempted to run to the stairs, but I know it’d be only a matter of seconds before we get to the first floor, and the elevator it’s still the fastest way. I breathe in deeply, slowly releasing the air from my lungs as the doors close.

‘Move motherfucker!’ 

The yuppy glances at me quizzically with the corner of his eye as I stand only a few inches from the elevator’s silver sliding doors, and when they finally open right after the usual ding, I rush outside, and I start running toward the exit. When I’m out I instinctively turn right and jog toward Columbus plaza, glimpsing back at times, to see if I spot any available cab on the go, but I almost bump into somebody, and I avoid him at the very last moment.

“OOOOHH SHIT!” I blurt loudly, at the same time realizing I almost crashed into our concierge.

“Good afternoon Mr. Byron!” Lawrence smiles seemingly amused by the escaped collision.

“Yeah, I’m sorry!” I groan catching my breath while I keep running as fast as I can without turning back to him.

A couple of blocks before the corner, where I’m sure there’s a taxi stand, I glimpse back at the street and I an available cab coming in. I rapidly jump down the sidewalk on the road and I wave my hand yelling. “Hey!”

The cab seems to drive away but then I see the red lights of the brakes and the car stopping abruptly.  Without thinking twice, I run toward the yellow cab and I get in. “To the airport!”

“Which one?” The driver asks.

‘Shit! I haven’t considered this.”

 I look at him speechless for a couple of seconds, trying to think sharply and quickly. My heart races and I’m still panting due to the sudden race.

“My girlfriend is going to Hawaii and I need to give her something, but I don’t remember what airport she was gonna leave from, do you know?”

He gives me a questioning look and then smirks. “You remember the company? The island?” He asks raising his eyebrows.

“The big island! I don’t know the airline!” I promptly reply.

He looks up as if trying to remember something. “Ok, it should be Kennedy,” he says.

“Ok, go! Just go! I’m late!”  I lean on the front seats and I stretch my arm showing him a hundred-dollar bill. “This is a bonus if you get me there as fast as you can.”

“Sure Sir.”

He forgets to look in the left mirror and drives away making smoking tires and causing a couple of upcoming cars to honk persistently, but he ignores them and speeds away on the road.