"Ugh," I moan pitifully. It's Saturday morning at 5:30 a.m. My body is waking up prematurely. It doesn't know that we can sleep in today and that we desperately need to. My mouth is dry. I reach out for the tepid water in a glass on my night table. It tastes gorgeous with only a slightly sickening hint of warmth. Speaking of warmth I am hot. The sheets are a ball of fire around me. My ex used to say that when I was hungover "It's like you're the inside of a ton-ton," in a rare and pithy Star Wars
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