it's on the shaft now

SHe gets up, smells. Opens her eyes, she's not at home, naked, again. "WHat time is it?" she asks out loud. There is is a man next to her in bed, he's from the bar, last night. She's been going out every chance she gets, she even leaves her Nissan behind, she know she's getting loaded. She knows, she knows that every time her and Monroe get together it's a shit show, a fucking lottery. "What time is it?" she asks out loud again. SHe stumbles out of bed, heavy set, and shaken. Looking over at him she realizes he's a big guy, tough night. "I can't remember a thing!" she exclaims pushing the palm of her hand into her eye, her head hurts. Her legs spread. "Where the fuck is my phone?" she asks herself, "where are my cloths?". SHe remembers something like this happening to her in the past, in Banff. On her birthday, she had thrown up all over herself. She woke up somewhere she didn't know, she thought she had been raped, she didn't know, she took a taxi home to her boyfriend, he willingly held her. "WHat fucking time is it?" No clocks on the walls, it was still dark outside, it was the middle of December this time. She remembered pieces from the night before, he was there. He'll remember her. "Damn!" She thought about their child. SHe thought about the sitter, his grandmother, he was at home. Her little one. She was a taxi ride away, preparing to use her baby to cradle her pain away.