Picture this.
It’s 12:29 AM and your mouth hurts so bad you can barely open it. You’re hungry. So you’re eating a, for some reason, extremely thick slice of bologna. In your kitchen with nothing but the sink light on, earbuds in blasting sex drugs etc. by beach weather, essentially club dancing with this floppy slice of bologna in your hand taking chipmunk sized bites of it and eating it with about four teeth on one side of your mouth, dog staring at you like you owe her the food, while your parents talk about their failing marriage in the room on the other side of the kitchen wall.
Tada. Welcome to my night.