You woke up, still drunk, in a stranger's house with a vague recollection of last night's debauchery. The morning light streaming through the blinds is blinding, a harsh reminder of the impending doom of reality.
The coffee machine is beeping in the corner, a siren's call to the chaos that is your hangover-ridden existence. You slowly rise, your limbs stiff and your head pounding, and shuffle towards the machine.
As you pour the dark, rich liquid into a mug, the aroma of burnt coffee and regret wafts up, a pungent reminder of the night's transgressions.
You take a sip, and the bitter taste of regret and caffeine floods your senses. The morning after is a cruel mistress, but you're not one to be deterred.