If I slept, it wasn't long. Four hours? Tops. Or maybe I was just dreaming that I was awake. Tossing. Turning. Trying to get comfortable. Looking for a cold spot on the sweltering sheets. The uncomfortable pillows. Whatever happened, I feel hungover. Tired. Achy. Brain hurts. Eyes hurt. And a big fist behind my eyes eager to punch its way free.
I never really know if I slept or I'm sleeping now.
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