Be nice, it’s my first time.
Whisper rustle…
The warm sound of your linen sheets barely competes with the comforting drone of the ceiling fan, but it’s still perceptible. You haven’t had a drink in a few days, but you have the same fuzzy, dewy fog over your senses as if you were drunk. The room is still dark, and uncomfortably warm from the sticky July night, but your skin feels cooler suddenly. Slowly you realize that your body is no longer covered by your light summery linens; did they fall on the floor? You roll your eyes before opening them, and slowly sit up, twisting and cracking various joints before reaching over the edge of the bed where the sheet must be. You don’t bother turning the light on, how could you fail to find the floor, right?