The Morning After

He dreamed about the cherry tree, the hole in the fence he climed into the garden through, the taste of the summer fruit. It was a shame nobody took care of the garden anymore, the empty house nearby falling into pieces. Two windows were looking at him in the same way as sockets in a skull may look at you - they were not.

He woke up late, still on the couch. His neck stiff, one foot freezing as it stuck out from beneath the blanket, his phone still in his hand. And, the most pressing reminder of yesterday, still naked.