Ticket stubs

There must be a train that I forgot to get on, because I am not where I am supposed to be. This isn't my bedroom, nor is it a murder/mystery, so you can stop now if you'd like. I have this overwhelming hatred for my facial hair, but I don't know where I am or how long I've been here and, judging by looks of things, it's been about five days. Though that's a very generous estimate. It doesn't really make a difference where I am, honestly. The fact is I have a boarding pass and a wristwatch, and I know where I need to be and when I need to be there. The apartment (and really it's just a room with a bed) smells like stale vodka and an unfamiliar woman, but not sex. I'm not surprised. I have a nasty habit of putting work before play...