Beat. Bass. Shove. Fall. Get up. Drink. Beat. Bass. Smoke. Snogg. Drink. Fall. Beat. Bass. Beat. Bass.


The Morning After.



She gets up. Well, she stirs. Opens her eyes slowly, very slowly...and finds her face to be burried in a pillow. The couch pillow, she could tell, by the ruff material and ugly orange colours. She lifted her head and flicked her hair out of her face and starts searching for her phone and cigarettes. When she found them, she lit a cigarette and looked at the time.
4 p.m.
"Shit."
It was about time for coffee. Sitting on the kitchen table and fiddling with the spoon, she looked around. Her house was clean and tidy, nothing was broken, except a bottle of wine next to her couch, but she already knew how that had happened.
The rest of the night was a blur.

Exactly what she wanted, things to be blurry.
But she could still remember the stupid words she said, the hits, the falls, the story.

She exhaled smoke. And breathed in smoke again. Exhaled it, breathed i