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You bury your head in your pillow, and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to block out that god-forsaken jackhammer, and maybe go back to sleep, wake up at some less un-godly hour.
BRR-RRRRR-RRR
"****." You decide to get up. As you crawl out of bed and force yourself back to the land of the living, you look around your room. It's... what did the estate agent call it when you bought it? Homely? Pah. It's tiny. Dingy. But its home, nonetheless.
The walls are a greyish colour; supposedly they were once beige. Your carpet is old, stained and ratty. It looks like something died on it. As for your closet. Well... let's cross that bridge when we reach it, hmm?