I spend the next ten minutes sweeping and vacuuming the broken glass from the kitchen floor. I know I should put some shoes on, but I can’t seem to find the energy. I’ll just have to avoid impaling my foot on a piece of shattered glass; keep on the lookout for any stray bits. It’s not exactly the first time I’ve risked it through sheer laziness, and it definitely won’t be the last.
Before I put the vacuum away, I drop to one knee, tilt my head to one side, low to floor, and have one final scan for any wandering shards. When I see that there’re none, I put everything back into the hallway cupboard, and sit on the living-room couch.
Still no sign of any hangover. Can’t say the same for Aimee though. She’s spent the last two hours running back and forth to the bathroom. I feel sorry for her
