Leftovers from last week's Fiesta

Slowly, I woke up. Dozy, blood-shot eyes, shreded shirt and pantyhose.
Nothing left but my prose.

I had no clue as to what happened overnight or where I was, so I lumped along a lonley street.
Call me the offbeat.

"Hey Lyla !, throwed at me a man sat on the concrete. You got 'em moves !"
I was petrified, how did he know my name ?

He stared at me, I recoiled,
Then I started to recall.

Unicorns, piñata, a wild rumba. Oh mama mía !
Everything was mixed up in my mind, what a pity.
Nothing left but a fuzzy memory.

I continued along my way in a hurry, yet another guy - who knows why ? - sorrowfuly told me "I'm sorry".

He stepped aside, staggered and sighed,
uncovering a scene of massacre, a fresh trouble, what a spectacle.

As I was getting closer to the scene, a police officer ordered me to step back. I had to know what happened so I forced my way in. Before he took me back by force, I looked over his shoulder and recognized my friends. Edward, Stanley, Luis, Amanda.

Nothing left but leftovers from last week's fiesta.