The not so sad end of a booze hound

From the desk of Quintana “Quinto” Haberno (pt 4 – Decatur, or, This Joke is getting boring)

“Every night turns out to be a little more like Bukowski, I know it’s a pretty good read but God, who would want to be such an asshole?”- Isaac Brock.

It’s not a good Friday to be me. To be honest, it’s never a good DAY at all to be me. Bills pilling up, internal organs decaying, music starting to sound all the same, no real direction in life.

The smelly, dank night, how I loathe it. I’ve should’ve been there earlier, but I couldn’t manage to get the courage to get out of my room on time. Consequence?

I miss the gig I had to attend. If I were a writer for the site, I would call in an apologise. I’m the fucking co-editor, for Krist Novoselic’s sake. I’m supposed to be responsible.

Still, sausage roll, right? Not so. It’s raining.

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