Sorry, I'm Not Into Bestiality

Chapter 1 -- You alright, mate?

Danny

The clamour of peak-time foot traffic carried me to daylight as I skulked up the sticky subway steps, sunglasses perched precariously on my nose and a lukewarm macchiato clutched in hand. I breathed in deeply, relishing the fresh air for a few short moments before a wave of self-imposed nausea washed over me; the sickly smell of candied nuts wafting across the crowd from a nearby vendor's cart.

Grimacing, I escaped the gathering underground and hobbled down the busy New York Street, tepidly sipping my mediocre coffee with an ever-churning stomach. I wish I could say that it was due to a particularly nasty out-of-season bug, but two empty bottles of red wine and several embarrassing text messages from my phone would beg to differ.

The weather was bitterly cold and indifferent to my fragile disposition, the long woollen coat I'd had the decency to grab providing little respite as I dragged my ill-chosen heels across the pavement. Silently fuming, I chastised myself as to why I thought drinking on a Wednesday was a good idea.

After miraculously surviving a day in the office through the combined effort of elongated bathroom breaks and inconspicuous desk napping, I was finally ploughing my way through the big apple and back to the haven that was my apartment. This was the worst hangover I'd had in years, and as punishment, my body was making sure to remind me of my idiocy unrelentingly.

The crowd walked by without a glance, a mixture of middle-aged businesspeople charging alongside gaggles of loud young twenty-somethings; no doubt off to spend the evening repeating the same mistakes that I'd made only fourteen hours prior.

Moving from the English coast to a massive place like Manhattan was a bit of a shock to the system on any given day, but it never felt more prevalent than during that chilly walk home after work.

A couple of blocks away from sanctuary my pocket began to rhythmically vibrate, and with a quiet groan of dismay I shifted the coffee to my other hand to access the little outdated box. After an embarrassingly long fight with my coat pocket, I finally managed to retrieve the flip-phone.

"Hello?" I answered pathetically, an unattractive yawn escaping my mouth.

"Well, you sound positively delightful," The annoyingly sober voice of my sister teased on the other end of the line, my weak attempt to cover my mouth with the coffee cup doing nothing to protect my fragile dignity from the general public, "Regretting that second bottle?"

I groaned pitifully, side stepping a pair of older Turkish men feverishly arguing in the middle of the pavement, "Never. Again."

"A blatant lie."

"No, Lill. I'm serious. The cork must've been rotted-- I haven't felt like this since I was a teenager. I've been seconds away from projectile vomiting onto Terry for the past six hours," I whined, the mere thought of my colleague's open-mouthed donut chomp this afternoon enough to induce a strong gag reflex even hours later, "It's been vile."

"I'm thinking maybe we should've thought about that 7am call-time before deciding that drinking on a weekday was a good idea," She teased.

"It's the Eurovision try-outs," I whined, rather illegally glancing down both sides of the road before hurriedly jaywalking across, "I can't exactly go in sober."

"You're a loser," She sang mockingly.

Rolling my eyes, I stumbled on my reply as I accidentally bumped into someone whilst manoeuvring by a newspaper dispenser, "Oh, sorry. Anyway, enough about my mistakes. What do you want? I'm almost home."

"What I can't call my big sister? Out of love?"

I scoffed sarcastically, "No."

"Okay, you caught me... I need snacks. My ankles have decided that they'd rather resemble tennis balls than joints, and I've officially had my fourteenth pee today," She said, feeling the full effects of pregnancy and reaping whatever benefits she could, "Mama needs her Borritos."