The next morning, I woke up.
But not at home.
I looked around and saw the penguin I met last night making breakfast.
His name, I learned, was Andy20.
He set out pancakes on the table and came over to me.
“Morning, honey.”
He leaned down and shot an electric bolt through my body.
You know, a kiss.
He slipped his fins under my shirt.
I kicked him.
Hard.
And left.
My heart was broken.
Again.
By the end of the day, I needed to buy more hot sauce.
I went and sat at the iceberg.
All day.
All night.
I wore black the next day.
And the next.
I was depressed.