When I awoke, after a very long and much-needed nap, my apartment was still a mess, my head still pounding, my stomach now gurgling. I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten last as I glanced over at the clock in the kitchen. It was just past eight at night, sunset fast approaching—as was the stranger on the phone. I glanced down at the sweats that Ted had loaned me, which were suddenly tenting something fierce. “Well, at least one of us seems to be right as rain today. Goody for you.” I gave it a spiteful thwack. It pulsed with glee. Go figure.
Trudging, I made my way to my fridge, through the obstacle course that was now my living room. I popped open the door and grimaced at my lack of options: soda, milk, bread, ketchup, a bottle of champagne that had been sitting there for the last two year
