From an afternoon bed.

Something from last night has my stomach crying. Must be the alcohol. Must be the bad food. Could be anything. Even the wind here can give me headache. I try to leave the bed but I keep failing. What’s the joy in lying down. What’s the joy in getting up. Hunger keeps a man going. Nothing else. I am just not hungry. A mild headache does make want to get up. I am having one such headache right now. The fridge is running fine, only I got nothing to keep inside it. I can feel the fierce summer returning. My lips are dry and skin smooth as a sandpaper. I sit for a while and allow my head to fall in its place. It takes another twenty minutes for that.

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