April 1997
One Fine Day
The alarm goes off. I come to, dimly at first, then regain consciousness from last night's blackout. I want a drink. I can't have one in the morning. I might not make it to work. If I do get to work, I won't be any good until eleven, maybe even noon. I dry-heave, shower, and dress. This is another day no different than a thousand others.
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