Wednesday night at the club. It’s dead and I’m in a good mood. How unusual. Well, that’s not exactly true. I tend to rant dramatic. So, the club has peppermint mints in glass cups on the bar, and although I don’t like peppermints, I eat them from time to time to help mask the rubbing alcohol I swill. But, if I speak to or dance for a guy right after consumption, I always feel like the possibility is high that I’m burning his retinas.

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