A healthy portion of Bullet among friends. J. Blue and M. Beaver are here. They've brought ice cream and we've brought some flaming-hot foam peanut bi-product.
Today I wake up feeling religious. This is usually the sign of a rather irreligious day. It is more a temporary sentimental euphoria than anything of solid use. Now, at night, I no longer feel religious. I feel warm, though, and exhausted in a very comforting way.
The Bullet is hot and sweet. I swallow it wrong once or twice and try not to roll onto the floor in a coughing fit. The rolls: one of the most embarrassing and public of the occasional bourbon maladies.
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