I stumble groggily through the hall, following the sound of gut wrenching sobs. There I find you, usually in bed by now. Instead, this morning you're in complete hysterics, sobbing over the chicken Alfredo I made last night. I stare at you, trying to wake myself up. Guess I'm not going to work today. What the hell happened? Did somebody die? Did I add too much pepper? What the hell is going on right now? Uh... is it that bad? I can make something else.
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