Free short stories about Generation End

Archive for the ‘Anna’ Category

FINDING THE PERFECT PEOPLE

finding the perfect people

“There aren’t many perfect people in this world.” This is what she said as she had some wine.

“What do you consider as perfect?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Tall.”

“Tall?” I inspected the bottle of wine that stood between us. I ran my finger around the label. “How tall?”

“Seven foot.”

“Seven feet tall?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I said, putting the bottle back down. “What else makes a person perfect?”

“Wings.”

“Fluffy wings?”

She looked up for a moment and considered this question. “They can be fluffy after showering. But generally, they’re long and elegant and they droop like teardrops. They can come in different colours, too. Like green or orange. Sometimes white.”

“This is bullshit,” I said. “I’ve never seen seven foot tall people with wings.”

“They exist, and they’re perfect.”

“Where the hell have you seen these people?”

“Ipswich.”

“Ipswich? Fuck that.”

She smiled, letting the silence consume us both.

 

 

_

Book I’m reading: I Can’t Make This Up

PART 2: HAYLEY

hayley clouds - short story

 

There were plenty of things I thought of while up north: money, girls, boxing, the point of it all, the ups and the ups and the downs and the downs. I spent most of my time and money on driving and music CDs, and it was always sunny, and something about the heat and the beach made everyone tired and tan and different from what I was used to.

Jason seemed to have a lot of friends that he never wanted me to have. Every weekend he’d invite me out to some dinner or some house party he’d either organised or been invited to, and he’d introduce me to all these people and we’d eat and drink and laugh, then afterwards I’d never hear from them again. He’d always tell me about “hot birds” that he wanted to set me up with, and he actually did follow through and introduce me to girls, but whenever I’d get close to any of them he’d stop talking to me or I’d find out he told them that I had a girlfriend, or herpes, or both. He was angry sometimes, and he was happy sometimes, and once in a while, after dinner, he’d tell me stories about a prostitute who used to love dipping his balls in hot and cold water.

One thing that would’ve pissed Jason off the most was if I ended up doing anything with Hayley, which would’ve been impossible for a number of reasons: I wasn’t her type, she had an on-and-off-again boyfriend, she was too tall for me.

“I like your boots,” she said as she entered my car. We said nothing to each other as I drove, and once in a while I’d glance at her legs. We parked and entered a shopping mall; after looking around at bullshit for a good hour or so we entered a café.

A waitress brought us to a table, but Hayley wasn’t happy with where we were seated so she asked for us to be relocated somewhere else. She grinned. “Isn’t this better?”

“It looks the same.”

She ignored me and glanced around. “Wouldn’t it be cool if it was like back in the days, and you could smoke in places like this?”

“Why the hell would it be cool?”

“I don’t know it would just look cool, like that Coffee and Cigarettes movie. You know, like you and me smoking, not smiling… like, talking about serious shit. It’d be in black and white and it would just look hot.”

“How’s your boyfriend?”

She sighed. “How’s anything? I’ve only talked about myself for the past few times we’ve met. Tell me about you.”

“I met a girl who was engaged. It ended badly. I lost my job for the hundredth time. Now I’m here.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“First I have to cancel a contract I put on a townhouse I was going to buy. Next I’m going to either start writing another book or look for another job. Maybe I’ll even start my own business or something.” I thought about what I just said. “I just want to be rich enough to pay for all of my thoughts to go away.”

“You know where I’ve always pictured you?”

“Where?”

“New York. Writing books. Making most of the fact that you’re single with no baggage. No baggage. Don’t you understand how lucky you are?”

“I’m almost thirty and I only have eight thousand dollars in my bank account.”

“That’s a lot of money,” she said, surprised. “That’s more than me.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not bullshitting you.”

“You are. You’re bullshitting me.”

Hayley sipped her latte or whatever the hell it was for a while with an expression that said: I did something fucked up. Should I tell him? Eventually, she decided to speak. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Probably not.”

“I haven’t been the most faithful girlfriend.”

“Is anyone faithful anymore?”

She grinned slightly. “No gross, I haven’t done anything sexual or anything… Well, here’s what happened: I’ve been talking to my ex a lot–”

“No one is supposed to talk to their ex a lot.”

“And this sounds so bad, but we’ve been talking really dirty to each other on the phone.”

“How dirty?”

“Well, for example, like, the other day, we were on the phone, and he told me about how he misses coming all over my face, and I told him how I missed licking it up. And like, he told me this while my boyfriend was right in the other room.”

I thought about the sorts of things I’ve done or encouraged in the past few months. It all seemed relative, but I didn’t say that. Instead I said this: “Dat shit nasty.”

“Remember when we were young?” Was all she could manage to say in the end.

We spoke for a while longer, and I paid the bill. We walked outside the café, outside the glass doors, towards the road and the cars and the heat. “It’s still cold in Brisbane, I think.”

“I see.” Hayley put her sunglasses back on.

I drove Hayley home. I felt both sad and happy whenever I hung out with her. I didn’t want to return to Jason’s place yet, so I randomly drove around until I found a parking lot by a secluded beach spot. I parked and sat in the car, playing with my phone. I texted Anna:

Hey

Go away, she texted back.

Have I ever been in love? I suppose I have, I suppose I haven’t. When I was young I used to equate love with sex, and when I became a little older I only ever fell in love with those who rejected me. I suppose I’ve been in relationships in the past where I’ve said, “I love you,” and they’ve said, “I love you” back. But they never lasted, and after some time everyone simply decided to move on. Can true love ever exist for those who don’t deserve it? As I thought about this, I received several Snapchats from Jude: the first was of his penis, the second was of some girl’s arsehole, the third was of his penis forcing itself into her arsehole, the fourth was of him inserting his penis into her mouth. I took a screen shot of each photo, blocked him from my contact list, sent the photos to a few friends and turned my phone off.

 

ABEL’S HAIR

abel-xo-the-weeknd-red

“I just spent fourteen hours looking for the right shoes to go with my new chinos,” Jude said.

“No you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Fourteen hours,” I said.

“Fourteen hours,” he repeated.

“Fourteen hours straight.”

“Yes, fourteen hours straight.”

I faced him, thinking about how stupid he sounded. “It’s impossible to spend fourteen hours straight looking for shoes in the shops.”

Jude impatiently tapped his fingers on his steering wheel. “I went to Myer. Then I went to David Jones. Then I went to fuckin’, like, Hype and all those other random fuckin’ shops. Then I had coffee with Tess, and all we did was talk about which shoes to get, then we had a fight, then we made up and we looked at more shoes together until the shops closed.”

“How long was that?”

Jude thought about it. “About six, eight hours.”

“That’s not fourteen hours.”

“Then I dropped her home.”

“How long did that take?”

“About an hour.”

“Are you including that in the fourteen-hour count?”

“Yeah I am.”

“Why?”

“All we did was talk about the shoes while I drove her home, and while we talked about them I got her to look at shoe samples online. Then when I headed home I kept fuckin’ thinking, ‘Was she right? Should I get black shoes instead of brown? Should they really be the leather pointed ones?’ Then I got home, went online and did research, for,” Jude thought about it, “five hours straight. So how many hours is that? Eight hours at the shops, about an hour driving her home, and another five hours doing research online. That’s fourteen hours straight.”

I was sure Jude was lying about everything. “What shoes did you end up buying?”

“Nothing.”

Jude dropped me home. I’d been staying at his place for the past few weeks and it was time for me to settle back to reality again. As soon as he left I hopped into my damaged car and drove to see Anna. I’d been secretly texting her for the past few weeks. It was different this time, though.

I entered her work, at the end of her shift, and she smiled. We walked towards the car park and she winced when she saw my car. We drove, and I deliberately kept going the wrong way. She giggled and I wanted to kiss her. I parked in front of her place.

“Did you hear about the new Weeknd album coming out?” she asked me.

“I have.”

“Come inside,” she said.

We walked inside her place, and she showed me this painting she did of Abel. He was facing the sky, his afro or whatever it’s called glimmering beyond his eyes.

I held her hand, but only for a second. “I can’t feel my face when I’m with you.”

“You said keep our business on the low.”

“I’m just trying to get you out the friend zone.”

“Bring your love baby. I could bring my shame.”

“I got my heart right here.”

I glanced at a photograph of her and her fiancé on her wall.

We spoke for a bit more. We leant towards each other, but stopped. I walked outside, sat in my car. I looked at her front door. It was closed and the lights were off. I drove home and rubbed one out.

 

 

SILENT PERIOD

Goodbye Anna - short story

It was a few minutes past midnight, and this guy, Bill, whose boyfriend was supposedly a “scam artist slash DJ slash art dealer from like, London who had like, fifty thousand followers on Instagram,” had some kind of cover of Earned It by the Weeknd playing loudly from a gigantic iMac placed on a pile of magazines, and I was somewhere behind some curtains or some blankets, irritated, watching this silver-haired girl staring at the streams of light that would come shuddering into the room every so often for no good reason whatsoever – there was one particular moment, I think the moment was 12:42AM, when this man in a fishnet top, maybe someone’s father or uncle or friend, burst into the room and frightened us all by screaming I KNOW YOU, I KNOW YOU, before walking back out.

I’d barely spoken to Anna and for a while it ruined me. Reality can be a piece of shit sometimes, and I found myself plagued by immature thoughts. There had been moments where I wished I could’ve let go of all dignity and independence and driven to her work with the sole purpose of merely melting around her; I imagined telling her all the corny things I’d always secretly longed to tell someone: that I loved her and always will, that I’d give up everything simply to feel her hand in mine again. But the truth was it was never meant to be. As time went by and as I heard from her less and less my vivid memories of her turned into more of an idea of her, and eventually these posts about her: I’d think of her standing on a pedestal of poisoned crystal, or I’d think of the times we’d both fall asleep during video calls, or I’d think of the time she was with me in that tiny tea store and she smiled at me like I was the rarest person in the universe.

 

ANAL

slut neck thing - short stories

Things I liked out about Anna: she loved The Weeknd, she loved mixing music and had a following online, she brought Surface Children with her wherever she went, she regularly bought her parents dinner. Things that annoyed me: she secretly loved chaos, she loved destruction, she enjoyed the drama in walking away from the flames.

I walked out of work to find Anna’s fiancé and a friend axing my car. I had only heard stories about people axing other people’s cars before, and it’s pretty much exactly how you’d picture it to be: it involves people with axes, severely damaging your car with those axes. They spotted me and I ran for my life, and after a lot of running and hiding I managed to get into my poor car (all the windows were shattered, there were holes everywhere and there was piss on my seat) and drive off.

I parked at Jude’s place and used the spare key he gave me to walk inside. Jude was out with a girlfriend. I showered, put his clothes on, looked at the mirror. I tried calling Anna but after a few rings it would always hang up. I messaged her a few times – her phone said she read my messages but she didn’t reply. I looked at her social media accounts: her fiancés photos were back, her loving status updates about him were back. There were plenty more logical things I could have done that evening, but in the end I decided to drink Jude’s wine while messaging some girls and asking them if they wanted to visit me. After about an hour or so of drinking, Anna finally picked up her phone:

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I said.

“What’s up?”

“You back with him?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

There was silence.

“You know, you know what he did to my car?”

“I know I’m sorry, baby,” she said, “I just sent him the photos of us together to make him jealous and he took it the wrong way.”

“Why did you do that?”

She giggled a bit. “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as the other guys he went after.”

“What other guys?”

“Are you drunk?”

“What other guys?”

“I miss you. Please don’t –”

I hung up the phone and wondered if I should catch a bus to work the next day. I hadn’t caught a bus in years. My phone vibrated: one of my friends, who was funnily enough named Annabelle, replied to my message.

Are you drunk? she texted me.

Why is everyone asking that?

Well, are you?

Of course.

I’ll be there soon.

Cool.

Okay if I don’t wear makeup?

I pictured her without makeup. Sure.

Have you eaten?

No. Have you?

Yeah.

That’s fine, I’ll eat something from the fridge.

She came over, and we sat by the balcony and she told me about everything that was happening in her life and I told her about everything that was happening in my life. I walked over to her and kissed her.

“You know I have my period, right?” she asked.

“That’s okay… Anal?”

We drank and we kissed some more and I took her to Jude’s couch. I drunkenly took her shorts off.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

“I have, and I don’t know how to feel about it each time.”

She laughed. Afterwards, I tried to put it in her mouth and she screamed at me.

“Fine, I’ll shower first.” I stumbled away, took a shower, and stumbled back out. I looked at her all drunk and sprawled on Jude’s couch: she was watching 12 Years a Slave on Blu-ray, and to her right, next to the remote, was a patch of blood mixed with small pebbles of shit.

 

ANNA’S PHOTO AND JUDE’S FIRST GIRL

Annas photo short story

Anna jumped in my car and we went for a drive and we parked somewhere and she went wild on me and everything seemed okay. Her mobile phone background, which used to have an image of her fiancé, had been replaced by a giant photo of a polar bear. Photos of him had vanished from her social media pages. But I was suspicious of these things, and I was sure there was a truth that neither of us had time to mention. As she sat on me in the driver’s seat she took a photo of the both of us, and as she sank lower I took her phone from her hand and recorded a video.

I drove her to work, and she kissed my cheek and said goodbye.

“Are either of us happy?” I asked her.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

As I watched her walk off I suddenly wished for something pure.

In the meantime, I spent my other hours boxing, working, writing a novel or visiting Jude or Vail. We went to a wedding one evening, and Jude, drunk, told us both about his first girl. He was twelve years old, and the girl was a twenty-year-old “neighbour or something” of his, and she’d always come over with McDonald’s for him. They’d watch movies together, and she’d always find a way to turn their conversations into something sexual. One day, as she stroked on the straw of her cup of Coke, she asked him if she could look at him completely. Everything after that went quickly, and after a week or so of rather dark experimentation with her he told his father everything and he never saw her again. “I kept her panties, but,” he said as Vail gave me a strange look.

 

 

ANNA AND THE BREAKUP

Anna and the Breakup - short story

One day I might stop writing about this bullshit. One day I might settle down with one woman. One day, when that woman decides to eventually stop showing me her vagina and I realise that I’m stuck with the same job and the same person for the rest of my life I’ll write a children’s fantasy novel. Or a crime novel. Or maybe I’ll do nothing and simply fade away.

Whatever happens, I’m going to my finish my story about Anna. It’s a story that simply has to be finished, and it’s a story that I recently found out she reads, even after everything that happened. “Are you going to write about this conversation?” She asked me when we ended up speaking again. “Hey, why don’t you let everyone know about my Instagram?” She kept bringing up the fact that I posted this somewhere:

 

dear Anna

 

And then I called her a manipulative liar and we yelled at each other before hanging up.

Before all of that, for a while, Anna and I kept messaging each other every ten minutes or so. One evening, it stopped. It was a strange feeling, no longer receiving her steady flow of messages. I waited for a few hours and even went out to a bar with Jude to have a few drinks. I finally sent her another message: “Where the hell are you?”

She replied back with a photo of herself in tears. “I broke up with him.” I read the message a few times and thought about what this could mean for me. No one ever just breaks up.

“Are you okay?” was all I ended up asking.

“Just stressed.”

“Do you want me to stop talking to you?”

“You can’t just disappear on me like that.”

I didn’t know what she meant by “You can’t just disappear on me like that,” but one day I would. One day I would realise plenty of things about her.

She stopped speaking to me for the rest of that night. In the meantime, after several rejections, Jude and I met this girl in the bar. She was from Thailand, and apparently she lived in Saint Lucia, and apparently she wasn’t interested in doing anything too outrageous with two guys because she had a boyfriend, and apparently she was studying medicine. She giggled a lot, and she drank a lot. When I returned home early the next morning I checked my phone for messages a few more times before falling asleep.

 

ANNA AND THE DEFINITION OF LOVE

anna and the definition of love - short story

I remember once knowing exactly what love meant. I was about nine years old, I think, and to me, love was what my parents had: it was being happy with each other once in a while, it was being upset at each other once in a while, it was posing happily in photographs, it was a guarantee that they’d be with each other until the end of time.

Things kind of changed when I was about sixteen, and I told this girl named Madison that I loved her and that I will love her until the end of time. She also told me that she loved me and that she wanted to marry me. I frequently wrote stories about her and made her things, which always seemed to make her cry and hug me and tell me that she couldn’t wait to grow old with me. One day, she told me that she cheated on me with a twenty-eight-year-old, and after a bout of anger I told her that I was willing to forgive her, but she said that was pathetic and we ended it. A couple of months later, I had her in her little walk-in-robe, and I had sunglasses and a beanie on and we both had our bottoms off and I made fun of her big thighs, and she giggled and told me to shut the hell up. We’d been broken up for some time, but she wanted to ‘finalise’ things before she fully committed to her new boyfriend. At the end of it, as I tried to cover her eyes and her nostrils as much as I could, she kept asking me, “You love me, right? You love me, right? Because I love you, right? I love you, right?” and I said, “I love you, open your mouth, I love you, open your mouth, I love you,” and I was pretty sure we were both lying to each other. About the love. I think.

My texts with Anna didn’t end. In fact, they became more and more frequent. Besides sending each other dirty messages and photos, we also talked in depth about each other’s lives and even began telling each other that we missed each other – gigantic red flags that anyone less lonely or desperate or lacking in moral integrity would’ve taken more seriously. I was a fool.

“What does love mean to you?” She asked me once.

I shrugged, even though I was on the phone with her and she couldn’t see me shrug. “It changes all the time. One day it means one thing to me, the next it means something else.”

“Well to me,” she said, “I don’t know. I know love comes in many forms, or whatever, but the relationship kind of love, like, to me, it’s…”

“It’s what? Stop stalling.”

She giggled. “It’s hard to explain. It’s something completely unjustified and doesn’t make any sense, but we long for it, you know?”

I found out that her favourite colour was ‘shades’, that she secretly liked the Twilight soundtrack, that she missed her moments with her father before he remarried. Because her fiancé was back in town, we didn’t have any opportunities to meet. I did, however, find one moment to see her: ten minutes before her shift began.

She spotted me sitting in front of her work, smiled, and sat down next to me. “Have you been stalking me?”

“I sort of made you a salad.” I gave her my salad.

She grinned and took it from me, looking it over. “You sort of made me a salad?”

“I tried to make one at first. I fucked up, so I bought you one.”

“You’re easily the sweetest guy I’ve met.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“So are you going to take me out tonight? Wine and dine me? Seduce me into stripping?”

“Only ask questions you mean,” I said.

She smiled, checked the time. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Same.”

“It must’ve been a long drive to get here.”

“Wasn’t too long.” It was forty minutes.

We talked a little more until she had to go. I watched her walk into her work, and I watched her look back at me and smile. I drove to a friend’s place, and as we spoke about life and everything else I repeatedly checked my phone until I finally received a message from her. She was having her break. I smiled, replied, and she immediately replied back.

Sometimes I still think about that girl, Madison. With her straightened hair and her ridiculous laugh and her ugly braces. I told her that I hated her once, and when she ended things I couldn’t sleep for weeks. Once in a while I’ll remember a song we shared, and once in a while I’ll remember the way she’d speak, or laugh, or sneer, and how, simply by existing in my life, she could either make me feel like the most important man in the universe or mercilessly turn my entire life inside out. I hope she turned out fat.

 

ANNA: THE GIRL I WILL END UP HATING

Anna - the girl I will end up hating - short story

Anna and I continued to text each other every five minutes or so. I learnt that she was twenty years old and got engaged when she was 19. She worked at a dollar discount store and didn’t know what to do with her life and didn’t seem to have any ambition to find out any time soon. She thought that her fiancé, who got paid a lot of money but was barely home, wasn’t the right one for her and she was supposedly “like, seriously thinking of ending it with him”. This, however, didn’t stop her from posting photos of the various dates they’d have and the expensive presents he’d buy for her on Instagram: a Tiffany’s necklace, shoes that were apparently five hundred dollars, a Prada purse.

There were a lot of red flags with Anna, and reflecting back on my terrible history with women it was clear that I liked to make really shitty choices. Now that I was single again, I finally had the chance to get things right, to move on from the death of Ariel, to get over Mandy, to forget that Parade of Past Pussy and find someone who wasn’t an escort, who wasn’t addicted to money and gangbangs, who wasn’t a drug addict, who didn’t constantly talk about killing herself, who wasn’t a cheat, who wasn’t engaged to a police officer: a sensible woman who wanted a manny for the long run, who liked to wear her hair in a ponytail and hated the word ‘cunt’; or maybe I needed to embrace my loneliness and focus on making more money, on reading new age books, on taking on meditation, on masturbating on an hourly basis. But there was a void, and I was lonely and sad, and Anna, with all of her warning signs, was actually the funniest and strangest girl I’d met. Plus she regularly sent me photos of her legs and cleavage.

I met her for the second time at a house party. While everyone was busy we secretly met in the laundry room.

“This is going to be our new house,” she said. She pointed at the clothes dryer. “That’s where we’ll keep our son.”

I pointed towards the space between the laundry basket and washing machine. “That’s where we’ll hide our son when he tries to call child support.”

“How about our daughter?”

“We will never, ever, ever, have a daughter.”

She giggled, and giggled even more when I wasn’t smiling. We walked into one of the rooms. I closed the door and she smiled. “I dropped something.” She bent over and I placed my hand on her. She was wearing a light green short skirt and she was firm, like she truly worked out to her heart’s content. She stood up and faced me. We looked at each other for a while until someone called her name. I opened the door for her and she smiled at me before walking out to rejoin the party.

Her last smile signified the end of me, of every single thing that made me who I was. I had willingly fallen into her lure.

 

ANNA: THE GIRL WITH A MEATY P****

Story about Anna

Dear Carlos Fuckface,

 

This started a couple of months ago, and I haven’t really told anyone about it yet, but given what’s going on right now I think now would be the perfect time to let you be the first person to read this story.

You see I was sober, and it was a Friday evening and I was at a friend’s gathering and things weren’t going so well for me internally. This girl had some techno tracks playing on Spotify, and whenever she’d walk off I’d keep changing the playlist to repeat a remastered version of Canon in D. Eventually, she caught me and told me to fuck off. I bunch of people agreed with her. I fucked off and sat down next to a group of girls and a few guys.

Anna, the only one in the group I was attracted to, was wearing a short, cotton grey skirt. I could see her panties from where I was sitting. They were also grey, but lace. Her hair was straight, her heels were high. She looked young but it looked like she was wearing an engagement ring. She wouldn’t stop texting on her phone.

“Stop texting on your phone,” I said to her.

She smiled. “I can’t help it.” She continued texting.

She had great legs. I tried to start a few more conversations with her but they all stopped short. I eventually gave up on trying to impress her and got drunk and embarrassed myself until Vail came to pick me up. As she drove and kept telling me to stop touching her legs and changing the radio station I stared at the blurry road ahead of me. I wished things were better. Something was missing, and I hated myself and wished things were better. I went on Facebook and found Anna and immediately messaged her.

“Hi,” I said.

“It’s you,” she said. “The drunk guy who tried too hard. Are you stalking me?”

“It’s past your bedtime.”

“You must miss me already. To go out of your way to find me like this.”

“You represent everything I hate about this world.”

We didn’t stop talking and flirting until four in the morning. Apparently, she was having a text argument with her fiancé during the party and was embarrassed that she didn’t really talk to anyone, including me. I looked at her Facebook profile, and she was engaged to this guy named Billy. I looked at Billy’s profile and concluded that he was one of the ugliest guys I have ever seen in my entire life. One thing that caught my attention was that he regularly competed in wrestling competitions and had several angry looking friends who also seemed to compete in a mix of wrestling, kickboxing and judo competitions. They all also seemed to frequent the shooting range.

He seemed to love bragging about how much he supposedly loved her, though, and regularly posted about his dates with her and how he wanted to grow old and eventually die with her. He was one of those guys who posted long, ranty posts that had one or two likes. I looked at Anna’s profile: there were pics of her with friends, photos of her in her bathing suit, selfies of her in tiny shorts before supposedly going to the gym. There was one photo of her showing off her engagement ring. I went to the Tumblr account she told me she had: it hosted thousands of shared GIFs and images of people fucking, of women receiving cumshots, of women dribbling cum, of quotes such as, “I want to fuck you in every city I travel to.”

Before I could say anything to her I received a new message: she sent me a photo of herself in tiny shorts, biting her lip in front of the camera.

I sent her a message: “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

She replied: “Do you like that?”

I looked at the photo of her engagement ring once more. “I do.”

Vail sat up from my bed. She smelt like milk. “You’re still texting her?”

“Yeah.”

“Sleep,” she said. “You’re still drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Whatever.”

I went to bed and dreamt of awful things.