The morning was done, gone to the dogs with the progression of the sun across the sky. Gordon squeezed his eyes shut and gathered the duvet around his head like a death shroud.
Eventually he clambered to his feet at the insistence of his bladder. Wrapping paper crinkled and crunched beneath his toes. Looking down he could just make out the design in the glimmer that peeped out beneath perpetually drawn black-out curtains; brightly coloured birthday candles, all in a row, framed against a sea of blue.
As he stood pissing the tears began to stream down his face.
He was glad to be free of both – his body purged of waste products.
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