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Summary
Every morning is the same.
Colt wakes up with a pounding headache, the fuzzy taste of a good hangover lingering at the back of his throat and an empty bottle of old beer resting coldly against his cheek. He’s got sand in places where he’s pretty fucking sure he shouldn’t have sand, and the entire beach looks and feels like an unfamiliar, alien landscape.
Every morning is the same.
Until it's not.
(NaNoWriMo fic I wrote back in 2021 which I promptly forgot about, oops. Better late than never, I guess.)
