Faulty Lines

She threw her head out of the car’s window and let the air blow across her face. Because it had to go. The hangover. The ruddy hangover. Pieces of lemon lay on the floor, where she had spat them out after chewing them dry.

8 hours, 37 minutes and 43 seconds was how long the hammer had banged inside her head.

2 was the number of times she had wretched.

13 were the hours left to pay the rent.

4 were the number of letters in the word the man in the tie had called her.

3rd was the finger she had dug into his eye.

44 were the number of stairs to the lobby.

4 was the amount of money in her bra.

11 were number of holes in her dress.

She bent over to the front of the car and ran a finger through the leather of the seat cover. ” Got a lighter? “

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