“Are those strangle marks?” I hissed to my companions, Scott and Liz, in what I suspected was far from a discrete decibel. The three of us stared intently at Chai’s neck, for what can only be described as a socially unacceptable amount of time.
The knock at the door wrenched my eyes open at an alarming speed. I let out a grunt in disgust and rolled over to check the time. 7.00am – completely unacceptable. The knock increased in volume, as I rolled out of bed – staggered backwards and forth putting on my trousers, and made my way to the door.