It had taken everything in him to get up. But he was suddenly able when

Imogen Howe

mentioned visiting coffee shops.

Until then he felt like

death

. Didn't care what the others did. Alan only wanted the time to pass. Time was the only thing that could cure a

hangover

. Why weren't there ways to expedite the recovery process. A pill or something. To suck up all the... whatever it was that made you feel like crap when hungover... out of your system.

People spoke of

coffee

and

cold showers

. But those only worked on mild cases. And worked less because of some actual effect. Was instead more of a distraction from the experience of being hung over. On this morning... Alan was really hungover. The kind where you knew coffee and cold showers weren't going to do jack shit.

Fuck Jack, he thought. And fuck Aaron.

His only resolve was the chill that snuck in through the slightly cracked window. Whoever had cracked the window, god bless their soul. It was probably Imogen he thought. He didn't care if it was Jack or Aaron. He'd rather imagine Imogen doing it.

The air was just the right temperature due to the chill. It came and went at different intensities. He'd wait for the next breeze. As soon as he felt like puking, a chill would come and save him. He became addicted to the swings of wind. And he knew he would be doing just that all morning. That is until he heard Imogen talk about visiting coffee shops. Then he had to get up. He couldn't let her go to the coffee shops with those guys. He needed to be there too. They would bad mouth him. He'd never have a shot with her if Aaron and Jack spent an hour talking shit about him. Bastards.