It was a little sharp

Not so sharp that it stung

But it cut through her stream of thoughts nonetheless

Near-vinegar wine opened two weeks ago and forgotten

Let it breath, they say

This one had inhaled long and hard

Acid rain spitting through the gapped window

And exhaust fumes creeping in from the street all that way below

Muffled shouts too

A horn


And now a car alarm slicing the air into pulsating segments

Fresh air is meant to be good for a headache

Leaning forward and letting a letterbox strip of cool air wash over face


Lifting the heavy sash frame up

Closing the gap


A giggle





The cold glass has taken on her warmth

Acclimatised to her fingers

And she lifts rim towards mouth again

Breaths deeply

Drinks deeply

Is wine good for a headache?

It was a little sharp

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