Sweet merciful Memorial Day. It's just a memory now, one that still rolls and rattles around in my skull with the cyclical monotony of an old machine dryer.
My head feels like a vaccum bag that's about to burst; full of dust and small spiders, old cheerios.
In truth, I was helpless. The day was perfect: sunny, warm, peaceable; how was anyone to resist?
I think I'm done with drinking for a while now - as soon as I finish that growler of beer in my fridge.
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