I am at my work desk, surrounded by scraps of paper splattered with words that aren't stringing together as melodically as they were last night. And when they do run together, they are seemlessly rancid and unpublishable.
Trying to piece together what it was, exactly, that had us in stitches over $5 coronas seems impossible to do on paper. But in bursts of memory, I have been laughing out loud to myself since 7.15am.
To do it all again.