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The next morning, I dragged myself back into the office, feeling like I'd been run over by a freight train fueled by regret and cheap tequila. My head pounded like a marching band, and my eyes felt like they'd gone through a sandpaper treatment overnight, but I was set on putting on a brave face.
After all, I'd spent years perfecting the art of hiding my hangovers, there was this one time in college I even gave a full-on presentation about elasticity of demand and supply while battling a migraine fierce enough to take down an elephant after partying like a madman and fucking a random dude I met at the library the night before.
I got an A on the presentation, by the way.
So, I straightened my tie, slapped on my best professional smile, and marched through the lobby like I owned the place, despite every step feeling like I was trying not to ralph.
