The key poked the side of my breast and my bladder ached. I ignored them as long as I could, but finally rolled off the sofa and into the bathroom.
As soon as I flushed the toilet, hunger fell on me: a booby trap, like a water bucket on my head going back through the bathroom doorway.
It was nearly 5 pm.
I found some cold noodles in the refrigerator, and ate them right there, with my fingers. I drank some iced tea straight from the pitcher, bitter as beer, instead of the 3 sugars per tall glass per my custom.
The cold noodles and colder tea tasted better than anything I'd ever eaten.
I closed the fridge and wiped my fingers on the sides of my shirt. My right hand caught paper -- the note I hadn't read, taped to my hip where I'd rolled onto it.
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