By Emily Hoover
After ten years in the Navy, complete with ten hour days and even longer nights, Rob simply cannot wake up these days—he is a rock, dead and still. He slams his hands on the snooze alarm multiple times in one hour, grunts when he picks himself out of bed to urinate, lies down in the shower, and falls asleep again. Fifteen minutes before class, he checks his Facebook page and lights a cigarette, stinging my nostrils with an ashy wake-up call. We kiss, exchanging saliva and morning breath before he departs, leaving me to my dreams.
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