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     You make your way to the kitchen and  grab a bottle of wine, pulling a glass from the cupboard.  A quick glance at the bottle and you decide the glass is far too pretentious for your plans for the evening.  You shuffle back to the bedroom, clutching the wine bottle by the neck.  You pull your rumpled comforter off the unmade bed and wrap it around your shoulders and wander back to the couch, looking like a monk with your bottle of sacremental wine.  You flop down in your familiar overstuffed chair and flip on the tv.  After more than one large swig you discard the bottle on the floor and stumble into the kitchen for a second one.  You scoff out loud at the glass sitting pristinely on the counter.  "I don't need you!"  you shout loudly at it, swinging the second bottle of wine wildly in the air.  Red wine splashes out of the bottle, splattering on the floor and down your front.  You don't care.  You weave your way back to the chair and collapse into its cushiness, downing another large swig of wine, you pass out, still clutching the bottle. 


You wake in the morniing, still mentally and physically drained.  

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