Now, I find, I've changed my mind.

"It's morning", he says, "Finally."


I turn over towards the window and rain hits the pane. He crawls over me and gets out of the unbearably small bed and pulls his trousers on.

I pull the pillow over my face and I hear the door shut.

I try to get up.

I check my email, make some coffee, and my head is spinning. Theres empty pill bottles on the counter, and...well, other things.

My cigarettes are thrown on the floor among the records, and the papers, and the photographs.
One photograph I notice, and it takes me a few minutes to realize, is me. Smiling at the camera.
"Your teeth are fucked. Its kind of hot." he said when he took the photograph.
I pick up the photo and it pisses me off looking at who ever it is smiling back at me.

Who is that?

I rip the photograph and throw it on the floor. I stand in the middle of the messy apartment. My head is spinning faster and I break out into a sweat. I run into the bathroom because I feel last night coming up on me.

The mirror catches me. I see my sunken eyes, my messy hair, my gray face. I see my lips chapped, and my bones jutting out from my chest.

This is me.

I don't know where my friend went, or when he will be back.
I've got to get out of here.
I must get out of here.