Sara sits in the local pub staring at the bottom of an empty glass. The smell of tequila mixed with smoke is her only perfume. As she crosses her legs, the turquoise "swishies" on her feet make a startlingly loud noise. She curses to herself for forgetting to take them off, again.

They just didn't seem important.

Sara turns to her right, preparing to address the individual sitting next to her. She clears her throat of any ample tequila and looks directly into the eyes of the her new-found foe.

"Tell me," she says, "tell me what they're doing to me."

"Well, you see.." the man starts.

"No! No explanations! Just tell me!" Sara interrupts.

"We're, we're shipping you off, Ms. McGyver", the man says, trying to escape Sara's menacing glare.

"This is what I get?! I work twelve hours a day in the ER, and because of one silly mistake, you're shipping me off?!" Sara says, eyes brimming with tears.

"We understand it was a common mistake. But Mr. Solomon's family won't settle for that. They want cash. They want the 'assurance' that you won't be working at the hospital ever again, I'm sorry."

"Oh well, he's sorry, ya hear that?" she says sarcastically to the older woman sitting on the other side of her. "I don't even want to know where you're sending me."

"It's a nice place, very quiet. Simple patients, simple ailments. In the tropics."

"Enough, I can't listen to any more. I'll go, I'll go. I have no choice, but maybe it'd be better if I pretended I did for my self-esteem. Look at me, I'm packing my bags already."

Sara grabs an airplane ticket from the man's hand. She slowly raises her alcohol-filled body and begins to exit the bar. She debates whether she should inquire more about this "simple" island, but realizes she probably won't remember anything the man is saying anyway.

Somehow she manages to drag herself to her apartment.

Sara sits up in bed, reaching for the ringing phone. The sound of the digitally enhanced bell rings inside her body. Sara thinks to herself, "Diagnosis: Hangover."

"Wha?" is Sara's welcoming voice over the receiver.

"Hey Sar Bear, it's your Mammy. How's my cutesy wootsy on this sunshiney morning?" the cheerful voice responds.

"Mom, I'm taking a vacation, I have to pack and go now. Thanks for calling. So nice to speak with you every six months."

Sara slams down the phone and rolls her eyes. "You'd think she'd call back after I'd say that, but thank God she doesn't" she says to herself.

Sara gets out a small duffle and opens her petit wardrobe.

Flipping through her measly items, she looks back at the duffle. Standing in the middle of her small room, she shakes her head and laughs to herself.

Sara jogs out of the room, grabs a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich off her kitchen counter (prepared 4 days earlier), scoops up her airplane ticket and doesn't even lock the door on her way out. She stops at her landlady's apartment and tells her that everything in 212 is hers to keep, including the keys. Sara gets in a cab and tells the cab the terminal she'll be needing to arrive at in the airport.