The Morning After (...The Surf Club)
She lifted her head from her feather pillow and lowered its lead weight into the soft down. Her dry throat ached with an unquenchable thirst but she did not dare to get up and go quench it. Cautiously, she lifted her head up again and slowly dragged herself off the four-inch high slab of foam she had been using as a mattress since she came to New York. She bunched up her polyester blanket and slowly made the long journey to the living room couch.
Lethargically, she settled into the soft contours of the beige leather, letting her feet dangle over the arm of the sofabed. She close dher eyes.
When she opened them again, she glimpsed the blue sky through the tall curved windows of the penthouse living room. She watched as seagulls looped through the air, a jet plane rose into the clouds, satellites drifted past, debris was caught up in the wind high above the neighboring roof terrace, and still she watched as a little red heart-shaped balloon floated past, drifting along lackadaisically on its own current of wind.
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