Klappentext

Kicking my shoes of and unstrapping my bra at the same time is one of the very few skills I have and it's the first thing I do when I get home from work. My place of employment is the only place I bother to even put a bra on for and only because the customers don't want to see a person's personal parts poking through or freely bouncing around in her shirt - or so my boss said one day when she had to have the awkward conversation with me.
A barely touched bottle of bourbon sits on my kitchen bench and is calling my name so I make a beeline for it, abandoning my shoes and bra on the floor where they fell. I check the fridge for softdrink to soften the bite of the liquor, and it appears I am all out. That's okay though. I'll just pour a little water in it and it'll be ready.
A loud knock at my door interrupts me mid gulp and I scowl to myself. I'm not a fan of people at the best of times, but least of all those who come within my personal space. I know it's only the nosy old lady from next door anyway, so I ignore it. She's always banging on my door and trying to catch me coming and going to chat. Always the same thing, too.