There is not a single chair at the table and are scattered across the room. The Christmas tree is lit, despite the bright sunlight of the afternoon. On the table behind the dish for supper yesterday, empty bottles and cups to the edges marked by the gloss, seal and started an ashtray overflowing. My long black boots are stuck under the couch. The whip is based on the coffee table with my jewelry, some martini glasses and ash. I am looking for my underwear lying among their on the ground. They are still sleeping. Sitting on the ground in the middle of the room, I look at every detail to me recall last night. But now, I can not remember.
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