I’m hungover. All I want is to go home and eat Mum’s leftover spaghetti. My sister warns me they had a fight again.
I get home, slap a bowl of spaghetti in the microwave and wait. I rip it out, halfway through the beep and gorge my fork in to it, releasing the steam.
I try to sit at the dining table but there’s booze spilt on it. I try the lounge; there’s blood on it. The balcony – glass. My bed? Vomit.
I stand in the middle of the kitchen devouring the spaghetti. Steam rises and sticks to the walls.