“Good morning.”

She woke late the next morning with a stale taste in her mouth and blurred vision. She looked around the room.

It quickly occurred to her that she had never been in this room before; if she had been in this room it was a mystery to her rousing state. She glanced down to the white fur rug on the floor with the still-attached polar bear head. The sun reflected the rug’s tiny white hair follicle, complimenting a mahogany end table and textured blue-and-white stripped silk wallpaper.

Her arms stretched above her head.

Upon moving her left hand down to her sides, she touched the smooth, bare skin of a warm body to her left. She caressed it for a moment until she heard the moan of another woman in her bed, which, surprisingly startled her caressing hand. Her right hand moved to the harry leg of a man. That man is me.

I didn’t remember the name of either of the girls and had all but forgotten them spending the night before a rush of thoughts came to remind me of the previous night’s debauchery. Upon lifting my body, I stretched my hand to reposition snoozing alarm clock: 10:22.

Remember your 12:30 flight to Bogota. That voice in my head spoke, loudly.

I began calculating departure and arrival times minus time it takes to pack and park at which point I remembered that it was my jet and I don’t have to park or pack. They would wait. This thought made me grin as if I were having a wonderful dream about myself waking up with two girls in my bed, contemplating the departure of my private jet to island destinations.

My body arose.

My swiveling head pivoted left to find two svelte females in my green 1,100-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Our team of cell phones began to ring, simultaneously. Bed-headed blonde and brunette mops began popping up like daisies. The girls scrambled for their lifelines. I scrambled for mine.

As if all at once: “Hello?”