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Penelope listened to the buzz of the radio, not really hearing what they said, but finding a strange comfort in the constant noise.

She had, regrettably, not gotten much done throughout the day, so she thought she would try and make a dent in her washing.

For a while now she had been feeling groggy, and slow.

Looking at the clock on her radio, she startled upright, the neatly folded shirt hitting the table of messy clothes.

It was so late.

She hadn't been up this late in ages.

What the hell was up with her?

She has work tomorrow.

The red blink of 2:02 felt like a cold slap when she realised that she really hadn't done anything today. At least there was the comfort of tomorrow being different.

Or would it be today already?

Whatever it is, it would be different.

Whatever it is, it would be different

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