More and more nights spent with whiskey, weed and a charming old record player are why summer is the death of me. Not to mention, near hangouts with my achilles heel. This behavior works exponentially.
This weekend was fucking fantastic.
Highlight:
I speak four languages.
How do you say ghost child in all of them?
I don't know.
What about wolf?
I don't know that either.
Then you don't speak four languages.
Also, Chad fell into a moat at a house party. I will laugh about this for the rest of my life.
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