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  • I reach for my headboard to feel around for my phone. It didn't go off, but I know I'll eventually have to get up. 7:13. My vision is blurry and the bland white walls of my room provide no impetus to get out of bed. I reach again for my sheets and try to recall what I dreamt about. Whatever it was, I rather be back there. I still haven't gotten over what occurred during that dream. I need to rectify, but I never will. I put the sheets over my head to see if I make the room dark enough I can go back into that world. I was close to getting to girl or close to saving the world or close to being destroyed with the rest of world. Either way I need to get back so the story can end.

    When's it going to ring?

    After a few moments, I realize there's no going back to that. Shirts? Do I have them ironed? ESPN. MSNBC. Who cares? I groan. I reach over to the other side of the queen bed expecting another body, but like every other morning there's no one there. I stretch out like a starfish hoping someone will come in to pull me out of bed. I try to extend my body to all four corners of the bed, I fail every day. I stretch out my jaw, because it hurts, my wisdom teeth extraction is long overdue. I'll get it done eventually. But that costs so much money, it can't be worth the pain of two days without a paycheck.

    When's it going to ring?

    In the midst of my sleep I fought the covers and pillowcases off of my bed onto the floor. There goes a week of sleeping without bedding.

    “Where Brooklyn At? Where Brooklyn At? Where Brooklyn At? I got 7 mack 11s 8 38s, 9 nines...”

    I hate that song. I have to change that alarm, I've been saying that for 3 weeks. 7:15.

    I open up the door and trudge into the bathroom. Still woozy, I slap on the lights. I miss and turn on the fan. I try again. I get the lights this time. I squint at the mirror and the first coherent thought crosses my mind.

    “You look like shit.”
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