Considering a rework on a 72 story

Paranoia, New York
An eerie silence loomed over lake thandore, disturbed only by the gentle whispering of the tiny waves as they snuck up on the mountain stream bank. “Wake the fuck up, Rip off Van Winkle”, Sara pleaded in a horse and slightly slurred voice. She looked out at the strobe like red light as it reached through the early morning sky up to the wakening sun. She shook Billy again, and this time he rolled over, assuring Sara that he was still alive. Billy sat up, and struggled to replace the taste of the stale oaky bourbon he vaguely remembered from last night with a swig of warm stale water. Spitting out the objectionable makeshift mouthwash he noticed his mouth was swollen like a ball of dirty cotton had replaced his tongue. He attempted another unsuccessful swish of warm water, and finally gave in to the fact that what he needed, was some aspirin, a shower, and to brush his teeth. But where the fuck was he? He grabbed his head between his hands, and the pain reverberated from side to side, as if he was listening to a really bad hardcore band on an even worse stereo headset. “What the fuck happened” he inquired innocently? In an unusual show of compassion, Sara explained in her most gentle voice, “You took 5 oxycontins, drank a liter of Jack Daniels, and then decided to steal that cop car”. Sara pointed to the flashing red beacon that bounced off the trunk of a black and white police car, half submerged in the water. “What the????” Billy could not even finish his sentence, trying desperately to focus and remember. “Holy shit, Sara, when did that happen? What day…where the fuck are we?”. “Well wild bill”, the sarcasm making a triumphant return, “Not too long after you chased Doreen through the park in your underwear”.

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