the morning after

More banging and groaning persisted. The figure reemerged and made its way towards the armchair’s fellow, the bedsheets dragging slowly behind, picking up unswept patches of dust in its trail.

“Morning Fritz, dear,” Zooey sang out cheerfully despite her obvious disgruntled disposition.

“Ughhhh,” Fritz replied, his eyes lolling about in their sockets. He slumped into the chair, set the coffee onto a stack of books nearby and curled himself tight, disappearing into the chair.

“How was the poetry reading last night?” Zooey inquired, even though she knew that Fritz wasn’t exactly concious at this point.

“Mmmm,” he replied. She reached over and poked the lump of sheets. It moved slightly before going limp.

“I had such an amazing time last night” she said to nobody in particular as she stared out the window, “Such and amazing time.” Fritz head emerged with a look of curiosity.

“Why?” he asked sleepily.

“Don’t you remember?” She asked, “I went to that show…” She was met with a look of confusion.

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