The Hangover catwalk

one early September morning, I was the image of any Hollywood rom-com heroine who just got dumped and went to a bar to lull her broken heart, by pouring it out to the bartender, while chunking in all the liquor… How she would look the morning after… hangover and unsteady. Yeah, that is how I looked like, only I was sober.

The tongue tie and drolling body were the doing of illnesses in my body. 

I came out of the house pushing a rollator, an African girl with a headscarf, Taxi for Muni With two left feet, I threw myself in the backseat and mumbled “hello” as I leaned back with a heavy sigh… The driver put on his seatbelt, he probably wished he had helped me too, I took an unusually long time to buckle up…

– And what is it that you do for a living? he asked taking a quick look at the mirror… I imagined what I must have looked like… – I am a writer, I said and tried to sit up straight. – A writer you say? I could hear the doubt in his voice…

Yes, sir, I am a writer…

My brain was too foggy to form a decent conversation… It’s all right, I said to myself… As I got out of the taxi in front of my doctor’s office. The sidewalk was a runway and I was doing a hangover lady catwalk.

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