I crawl out of bed, yawning with my whole torso as I pull on my faded red bathrobe. I am twenty-eight years old and living alone in an apartment in Beaverton, Oregon. The complex is nicer than I could have afforded in the Bay Area, with a pool and gymnasium. I still need to find a job if I want to keep it.
My sleep-addled brain barely registers the open front door as I amble towards the kitchen. My living room jolts me awake. Why is it half-empty?
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Categories: Art and Literature