These shoes weren't meant to be walked in.

That's not her only problem, Alex thinks, but it's the easiest one to concentrate on; it lets her excuse the way she's walking, call it a limp instead of a stagger, blame it on anything other than the drinks Bernice had poured down her until she felt slightly less inclined to curl up and die on the floor ( Read more... )

[after this]

The sky's starting to pale round the edges by the time Alex makes it back to the room -- dress half-unzipped, hangover creeping up on her, sandals dangling by their straps from one hand in a likely-futile attempt to soften her footsteps, and she doesn't so much as want to consider her hair, but oh is she smiling ( Read more... )