No avian deaths today to speak of. Home late from work, I take an immodest pour of E. Williams from a tall glass and stumble towards the couch. Yes, friends - the couch. The reasons are not as forthcoming as you'd like them to be. At any rate, I sleep long and well. Too busy these days to enjoy bourbon for itself. It has become merely (and sadly) an accessory to progress. We are on the cusp of graduation. I'll drink to that.
I turn twenty-eight on Monday.
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