Another Sunday morning

She forces her eyes open. She is still on the couch. Rage is blaring from the television, but the sun is sneaking around the edges of the blinds. There is a full ashtray on the table next to a few empty bottles of wine and several stubbies. Her neck is stiff, but as she stretches it, her head starts to throb. Moving slowly, she flicks off the television and looks around the room. Both of her friends have gone, some time in the early hours. She hopes neither drove. She gives up on moving and lays herself on the couch, shuts her eyes and quietly moans to herself.

 

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