8:33 A.M.
A digital clock from the late nineties sat lopsided on the burgundy colored carpet next to a mysterious queen-sized bed. Nancy rubbed one of her eyes with a knuckle, and afterwards stretched her arms up in the air and yawned. She blinked a few times to gather her wits. Then Nancy looked over at a tanned sleeping man, looked away, and smiled. But then it dawned on her:
This wasn’t her bed.
That wasn’t her clock.
And this definitely wasn’t Leo’s apartment.
