I wake up wearing the same orange DECA shirt that I’ve been wearing for the last few days. I don’t even take it off when I go to sleep anymore for fear of the weird feeling the bare mattress has against my skin. My throat is sore. There is a hole in the comforter that I accidentally tore into it. I think the goose feathers are being sucked in with my snores. I am becoming stuffed myself.

Musette is asking me about the wifi password. The dog is sitting by the door. Responsibility abounding, dunking my head out of dream.

I don’t know is all I can think to say.

But there is a restaurant that I have been wanting to go to for a long time. It’s called Five Leaves. It’s only open until three.

I tell her that’s fine, and stand up, taking the dog out where he poops two solid and unbloodied piles right on the sidewalk.

So at least there’s that.

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