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Summary
This is how The First Morning goes: Foggy wakes up in his bed, in his tiny apartment, and on the bathroom door his pink shirt is hanging, ironed and waiting for him to put on. On his phone there’s an alarm set to go off in fifteen minutes so he can call Matt to make sure he’s—alive—awake. There’s sweat on his temples and his hair is already frizzy from the humidity of New York City in July.
That never changes.