You're sitting in your apartment in the middle of a month-long string of shitty days. You're by yourself and you're drinking, and not for the taste. You're starting to feel drunk, and it's a regretful kind of drunk. You sit on your old couch and glance over an old book you've already read. You're thinking about her again. You're not sure if you miss her, or if you just miss fucking her. The more you think about it, the more it starts to seem funny. You laugh, with more than a little bitterness.