Tipsy. Yet I still managed to indicate the timestamp. Perfunctorily. It’s officially a habit.
Had a drink with Joan in Cantina. I feel inebriated. Weird. Feeling. I feel like a puppet, the half-pitcher of margarita in-control of my strings.
Cool beans. I miss Denise. I miss Bates.
The bag which fell from my lap, is it an indication that I’m drunk? Yes? No? Vehicles, speeding before my eyes, are just part of this exaggerated illusion.