Some people's lives are really just a warning to the rest of us.
There are far too many people who fill that role in my opinion.
I spent part of the weekend sorting through the remains of one of those lives and having a bit too much quality time with another.
This second unfortunate is a good two years or so younger than I but looks a good twenty years older than my mother.
Don't do drugs, kids. That shit can fuck you up worse than you can imagine.
A couple of hours in a musty, unwashed, disgusting hovel made me seriously look at my own bad housekeeping tendencies and other personality quirks.
Ugh. Not fun.
Now I have to conjure up some kind of pleasant memory and write it out as a short story (a couple of paragraphs or so). I have esoteric work assignments that will be easier than this. Ugh.
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