An hour to go and I get to leave.

It’s been a day I won’t forget, and I am dead on my feet. My head is swimming from lack of sleep … completely saturated with illness. I am sicker than a dying dog, trying not to cough and sneeze every two minutes, and that letch has rubbed up against me for the umpteenth time while apparently walking to the refrigerator. I cringe as his sweaty clunky body presses me against the sink again, painfully banging my pelvic bone against the steel ridge that sticks out, and I know it’s going to leave a bruise. It more than riles my temper...