I fictioneered some out of my head, wrote, and went to the pub.
On returning, I find that there is no milk and no ramen. This annoys me far, far more than it should. But three pints dissolves magifictional ability.
I want four thousand cigarettes, a chance to have eight hours uninterrupted sleep, ten bottles of good vodka, significant amounts of drunk-capable food, and ten people to beat up.
This will pass by the morning. I hope.
: Last seen in May.