And then, it was all over. She opened her eyes, twenty-seven years old, alone in her bed with last night’s make-up smeared on her pillow. She kicked away the duvet from on top of her, got up in a start and, despite the hangover’s dizziness, started collecting her weed, tobacco, grinder, rolling papers and tips, threw everything in the trash and then went to look at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. She checked her bank account and the list of contacts on her phone: she had not a dollar nor a friend to her name. ‘How did I get here?’ she thought. Then, she looked at the picture she kept on her windowsill of herself as a child. She was holding up four fingers on one hand and three on the other for a total of seven and had a smile printed so bold on her face that you’d think it might never wear off. She finally recognized herself.


She picked up her phone again and called her mum who—glad but unused to receiving impromptu calls from her prodigal daughter—asked if anything was wrong.


“No, mum, nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering… Remember those overalls I had as a child? the ones grandma embroidered? Do you still have them somewhere?”


“Do I still have them?” asked her mum laughing heartily. “You don’t remember? You said I was not allowed to get rid of them. You said they were the most special and unique overalls in the world and, no matter what, I was not allowed to get rid of them…”