Finally, you’re home. Exhausted you peel off the sweaty black heels that your boss insists are “professional”. You set your worn bag onto the floor, its comforting thump hits you with nostalgia. Your eyes accidently glide to the bags handle, an unexpected meeting you pause, it’s slumped body singing a sad tune and you sigh. Remembering that poor, half price bag has been through everything (only a survivor lives after multiple coffee stains and getting forgotten on a train) and you know, you know what to do. What only a true friend would do. Picking it up you hang its morbid self up against the wall, everyone… even bags, need a break. As you prepare the kettle a smile tilts your face, so tired all you want is that warm tea to meet you under the covers. Precious drink in hand you make your way through the antarctic chill, your house too expensive to heat. Damn it, you should have chosen a smaller home… or even bunked with Susan but no, you had to be independent didn’t you? Cursing, tomorrow’s meeting a blaring alarm you almost forgot. It’s okay, you have time. Lifting your laptop up to try a make some sort of sense of your work the world spins, time churning along.
Crap. Lifting dreary eyes from the hypnotic screen the sky has gone dark, belly rumbling uncontrollably you reach for your tea. Lips to cup you take a swig and – You expel the damned liquid back out… you let it go lukewarm.