A fragile frame to things
I woke up with saw feet; often a mark of a good night out. The rest of me was filled with the dull ache of dead alcohol. I’m am now about to return to my bed with red wine wrapping up a good weekend. I may get round to filling in the gaps.
Why is that it that the best parties have the worst toilets?
Why is that it that the best parties have the worst toilets?