No More Tambourine Nights

I blink my eyes open. My feet are cold. There is a sound--a tiny bong, bong. My car door is open. I look down and see that my shoes are gone. The driver's side door is open. Wide open. My keys are in the ignition, but the engine is running. Purse. My purse. I reach over to the passenger side and realize that my purse is not there. Suddenly I feel the spit filling my mouth and I lurch. Vomiting, I lean over, splashing my car door and seat. I moan. Just another Friday night.