Drunken Monster

Low moments at work beg for a tributary visit in the grand altar of San Miguel Super Dry. Like last night for instance. The entire creative mafia conspired to ditch all last minute considerations for a project in favor of rowdy inebriation.

“I’ll go ahead.” I said glancing at the watch sometime past one o’clock. “I’ll comb Burgos for a quick lay.”

Raucous burst of laughter.

I realized I was half-kidding.