A new day

You wake up to the sun bleeding through the bedroom's east facing windows. To your astonishment you aren't hungover. You hope immunity to hangovers was something Alice had programmed into you and if so you think you might have gotten ripped off settling for the single digit billions you had sold the company for. Stirring you feel Alice hugged tight on your torso.

Looking at her triggers flash backs of last night. The club, the stranger's commanding presence, Alice's eager lips on his, your own mouth around him. It was a rush, now in the harsh light of morning you expect to feel regret, shame, something. But you just don't. Just like your hangover the psychic pain you expected is simply absent. What wasn't absent was your body's demand for caffeine and it was this impulse that got you to disentangle yourself from Alice and brave the new home alone.

Your feet still ache from last night's heels but you press on and rummage through a box the movers had labeled "kitchen" until you find your prize, instant coffee. It's weak and bitter, barely drinkable. Screw this, you need the real thing. Throwing on jeans and a simple tee, you head out to the coffee shop across the street. You feel anxiety as you exit the unassuming entrance on your first solo venture as Penny.

The street is alive with activity. A jogger nods at you, a woman with a dog smiles. No judgment or condemnation, no one somehow sees through you as an imposter, just everyday glances. You're hyper-aware of every sway of your hips, every bounce of your chest but to the outside world you're just another woman on the street.

The coffee shop is a hip design in a converted space that turns into a bar and barbecue joint in the evening. The barista, an alt girl with bright purple hair, hands over two lattes and a couple pastries with a quick "Have a good one" no drama.