fjordicswagger: (tamsin: srsly?)
[personal profile] fjordicswagger
There were a couple of bottles of vodka sitting on Tamsin's booze shelf now, a few pillows on the ground she could sit on, and she'd managed to block out the glare of the sun coming through the former storefront area by putting up some blankets.

She was alone, she had drinks, she could wallow for a while.

Then her phone rang. She groaned as she reached for it. "Whatever it is, Tiny," she said, "You can fix it yours-- in your mailbox? Really? Well, that changes everything."

Beat.

"That was sarcasm. Beat it, loser."

She threw her phone into the next room, then reached for the vodka. Ugh.

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