three giant steps back. I'm 21 whenever I'm around those people. Can't stop drinking, can't handle a buzz, uncomfortable and neurotic, sick and and embarrassed, drunk and talkative, confessing everything in slurring broken sentences.
No more Friday or Saturday nights for me please, too much riding on them with the gun barrell of Sunday morning waiting, with a hangover and blurry flashes of all the nonsense of the night before.
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