He woke up to a head-shattering explosion. No, that was just his head. He dragged himself to the bathroom and emptied both his stomach and his bladder. That must’ve been some party. Too bad he couldn’t remember it.
On his way back to his room, he looked over at Dalia’s makeshift bedroom. She’d set up a cot between some furniture and threw a sheet over the whole thing. For privacy, she said. He didn’t mind; she had found her own place and was moving out soon anyway. He could see her tiny foot sticking out of what seemed to now be a toilet paper infested tent.
Crap, she didn’t drink last night, did she? She said she’d been dry for months now. He went over to the tent and yanked on her foot. She didn’t move. Oh crap! Dalia! Please tell me you didn’t drink!
I didn’t drink! I just came home from night shift! Okay, sorry. He felt giddy with relief.
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