Got fuckin' lit last night at Tyson's birthday party and left my flask behind, the leather & chrome bottle I got from Mike R. years ago in Chicago. The old lady and I stayed later than usual and weren't even Detroit sober, so we left the car and enjoyed a crisp, brisk walk home at the end of it all. This morning I made the walk of shame to pick up the car, although in the haze of my hangover I probably still wasn't in prime driving condition. It was an exceptional party in that I actually knew at least 40% of the people in the room at any given moment, so it was a very comfortable place to drink Rebel Yell and tell lies. I had a good enough time that the hangover is the best of all possible hangovers, productive in the way that a cough can be, the emotionally purging type that makes you feel like you actually accomplished something by getting so loaded. I believe I did.