There was June, with legs bent and curled up close unto her chest. The scent of her vintage perfume from the woolen fibers of her sweater was gradually mixing with the smell of coffee spilled on the floor. Her eyes were as dark as ever, swollen and soar, from crying so hard last night. June didn't mind the pint of blood from the abrasion on her index finger caused by the broken shards of porcelain, while she was trying to get tidy. Her mind was left wandering in the four corners of her room, the dull-colored wallpaper, the various sizes of crevices, the unfixed bed, the smelly garbage bins, the dishes unwashed for two days, the smelly pile of laundry, the cluttered papers on the desk, the broken mug and spilled coffee. And there was June, still shoving herself onto the wall, thinking?
