more postmortem texting

so. 5:30 a.m. sunday morning. i take my leave of the rest of the revelers in the piazza and snag f's keys to crash, given the dearth of cabs and the urgent need for a bed, however maude-infested.
open f's flat. have vague recollection of a frantic maude spraying the entire room. make a beeline for the fridge, am stunned and ever-so-pleasantly surprised to find PIZZA. scarf down half as i attempt to get the alien laptop to work. try the cab number one more time, leave the waxed paper in the fridge and the laptop open and unused.
and exit.

awaken to another, even more vague recollection of having inhaled what must have been shots's pizza, and not f's. indeed. still, she doesn't seem to hate me yet, despite the various reasons i gave her saturday night.