Empty bottles and crushed cans cover the floor.
A half empty cup balances, on the edge of a stack of CDs.
Another is spilled next to the stereo,
That is still playing music,
Quieter than it was before.
The room is littered with bodies,
All in different positions,
All passed out,
at different stages of drunkenness.
One stirs, lifting her head,
then promptly banging it
against the underside of the table, she had passed out under.
She tries again,
More tentative than before,
Like a child exploring the world for the first time,
She groans as she looks around the apartment,
Seeing how trashed it is.
We must have had a great time,
She thinks, though when she tries to reach for memories
of throwing beer bottles against the wall,
Dancing on tables,
Having fun,
they were missing.
Yes, they must have had a great time,
but what was the point
if she can't remember it?