Harsh mouth, foul scent, lurching, slurring, and stumbling. Needless to say, I am hammered beyond salvage and absolutely embalmed to the gills.

I’m in my car trying to find the steering wheel, driving home with useful terror. Because, y’know, you always give your heart to the future ’cause the present is where you hustle.

‘Cause pints of Guinness gets down to business.

I let moonlight pour into my eyes before tomorrow’s sun bakes it raw. Somewhere in my head my brain is telling me what to do. But sobriety is a distant jewel, ghost beyond ghost, holding on to dear life while looking for little deaths— something cute, something evil.

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