Cheap liquor, a headache to accompany the aftermath. At least the cold have left my bones… Dreamt of the same thing as before, a bus full of girls taking turns talking about themselves, all but one that takes the bus without a specific reason. What again are dreams? Fictitious creations of our minds or divine signs? We consume substances to ignite these chaotic fictitious images, escaping truth and reality… Or is this reality? Bobbing blurred vision and a hint of nausea. Heaven, pure bliss. Dim-sum. With a dash of vomit… Won’t get any better than this…

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