The light outside feels punitive, like a cop flashlight. Or God. Nina laughs when I tell her this later because she doesn’t believe in God. Or cops. I haven’t made up my mind about either one, but I do know that that’s what sunlight feels like when you’re this hungover. It tunnels behind your eyes until the headache gathers there, all white and righteous and glimmering. Aspirin would help, but just like Nina doesn’t believe in cops or God, Nina’s mom doesn’t believe in painkillers.