Morning after something

We were sleeping in this new room, quite a bunch of us, and I sat in a broad wooden basket weave chair, naked but for a pair of small white briefs, with an even larger flap belly than I'm used to, and with a very big bright orange shirt draped around the back of the chair and buttoned once in front of my chest. If I didn't sit in a certain way or slumped too much it felt a little confining and I worried vaguely that the button would be torn off. So I tried to button it up entirely, for there is safety in numbers, even for buttons, because shared strain is lighter strain, but alas, the shirt was too tautly stretched already and I couldn't close the it. Why is it even pulled around the back of the chair, I thought, what a pointless, idiotic thing to do. I proceeded to take it off and because there was nothing else to cover me with even this much, and I'd apparently spent the whole night sitting and reading in that chair anyway - the light had changed, something pale blue glinted though cracks in the roller blind to my right - I got up and waded through the clutter and sleeping people into the general direction of the door. I encountered some dusty hair bundles on the way that I picked up to throw away.