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The place stinks of sex and cigarettes.
Even before I open my eyes I know that something bad is about to happen. That smell gives it away, as well as the fact that the pounding on the door has woken me. The office phones are ringing and Melanie is still asleep, naked, lying next to me on the floor. The three or four empty wine bottles we consumed last night come into focus as a hazy reminder of how we had gotten to where we are now. As the pounding on the door becomes more urgent, I lay my head back down and resign myself to the hopeless realisation that I am about to be fired from yet another job.
How has it reached this point again?