Friday, September 10, 2010

Hungover

My head is a gourd.  Smashed with a stick.  I can just lie there.  Mark must go.  Not us.  We lie there all day.  He comes back.  It's night.  He has drinks.  I think I am sick.  Who can drink.  We will stay all night again.  Worst feeling.  It's hell. 

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