She ignored the notepad until she had made a pot of coffee and downed at least two mugs of the dark sludge washed down with whiskey chasers. It was not just the hair of the dog it was the pelts of a whole fucking hell hound pack that kept her going these days.
She dragged herself into the shower and stood under the trickle of water her landlord had laughingly described in the advert as a ‘power shower’. She watched the water circle the lime scaled plughole and tried to concentrate on her next move. She was good at all sorts of games and was used to winning but how do you beat yourself. It was the solo tic-tac-toe scenario, the perpetual draw.
Drawing was not an option, she had to win to keep on breathing, to keep on waking up each morning in her shit apartment , in her shit neighbourhood, in this shit city. It may be all shit but it was her fucking kind of shit.
Wrapping the thin towel around her she walked over to the notepad.
‘Slow night, sweetie, only two, will do better tonight’