As she lay there, in a room that wasn't hers, she could still hear the loud shrill of Graham Norton's voice resounding in her head, and then it's out there and resounding off the walls as well. Turns out Will.I.Am is funny, and here she thought she had good taste.
It's late and she's tried her best to start the Charles Bukowski book, but her eyes blur and sentences run into each other all across the page and she can feel the onset of her own decent into ordinary madness.
"Perhaps another time." Her voice joins the echoes on the walls.
She picks up Don De Lillo instead, to see what he has to say, but falls asleep before she is in any way moved.
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