Chapter 12There’s no known method of waking up at two in the afternoon and feeling anything but disgusting.
This is the third thought Vince entertains after his eyes open. It follows first the realization that he’s no longer cushioned in the kind unrealities of oblivion and, second, the bleak resignation to another day.
He blinks grimy eyes at his mobile. The clock is inching toward three.
Alfie seems to have realized Vince is now among the living, has his front paws on the bed and a reproachful look to his eyebrows, fluffy white against black.
Ultimately it’s the expectant look from the dog that convinces Vince to roll off the mattress and onto his feet. He slumps into a pair of trousers that his hands can barely find the motivation to fasten, wrists feeling heavy as he tugs on shoes
