In a small picket house in Greenport, New York, the warm rays of the morning sun skidded through the only window and perched gently on the floor of the cluttered bedroom. The clothes were littered at every step, the sheets on the bed falling off the edges, as if the people sleeping on them did not care to be gentle before jumping each other’s bones.
The young man with his arm slumped from one side of the bed was the first one to blink and groan out of the two. The woman, however, did not even move, softly snoring on her side.
The birds chirped outside and the dogs barked while the man sat up and rubbed his eyes. Once aware of his surroundings and peeking through hardly open eyes, he brought his bare feet to the floor and hissed when the cool tiles bit him way too harshly than he anticipa
