Your room smelled of drink, and sick mopped up last night; the sun was coming in more strongly, it was nearly twelve I think. We both lay there, saying nothing and thinking nothing and the sheet was crumpled and ***** beneath us, the duvet on the floor, far away The room was a mess, and it stayed that way until six-thirty when you asked me what I wanted to eat (still thoroughly hungover) We ate cereal. The next day was Sunday, and it went very much the same. The same happy daze.