by Takiguchi Aiko (滝口アイコ)
Javed is still in bed, playing Peggle on his phone and nursing a hangover, when the door buzzes at one-thirty in the afternoon. Javed is skipping a studio day for the first time he can remember, so no one he knows should be expecting him to be home. He ignores the buzzer until it rings twice more, then sighs, staggers out of bed, and makes his way to the intercom. When he presses ‘talk’ and asks, “Who is it?” his voice is rusty with disuse.