All of the shades were drawn and her curtains closed, yet somehow sunlight was able to penetrate her cave-like domain and cut bright strips into the shadows.  The woman dragged her feet through them and felt the sun's warmth on her tiled floor and, in spots, carpeting.  She wiggled her toes and felt a satisfying POP which echoed through her empty apartment as she trod down the hall to the bathroom.  She neglected the lights upon entering, and even went so far as to open the medicine cabinet so she wouldn't be forced to look at herself while sitting on the toilet.  She didn't think she could bare that sight this morning.  She had slept in shorts and a tank and these she dropped in the hamper behind the door while she tended to business.  She dropped her face in her hands and tried massaging away her hangover, but succeeded only in producing a rumbling groan which much resembled the Crypt Keeper's creepy wheeze.  She leaned way over, past her knees, and her dark hair spilled past her elbows and nearly to the floor, where it tickled her toes.

At this point the cat emerged from wherever the hell it was that he was hiding and entwined himself around her ankles.  She smiled through her fingers, "Morning, Archie," and reached out with one hand to pet him but he easily sidestepped her un-asked-for show of affection.

"I know, I know," she croaked, "give me a minute, okay?"

Her response must have been enough to placate his hunger, and he toddled off into the darkness to wait for food.

She reached over and wiggled her hand through the faded vinyl shower curtain and pulled the shower handle into the proper position as the water fell from the head with a hiss.  The bathroom quickly filled with steam -- which reminded her: she needed to call the landlord about fixing the vent fan in the ceiling -- and she hopped in.  She stood still for a few minutes, just letting the hot water wash over her and seep into her bones.  Once a certain amount of wakefulness began to take hold she washed her hair -- twice -- and scrubbed her body as aggressively as she dared in order to remove any trace of last night; her skin felt like a men's room floor, after all.  Ugh, she washed again, just to erase that image from her mind.

Her post-shower grooming routine was succinct: a ponytail for her hair and a light, summery outfit from the clean clothes basket by her bedroom door, which she brought out to the living room to dress.  She found her phone charging by the couch, and sat down to blot her armpits with her towel and placed her cell to her ear so she could check her messages.

The End

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