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I Eat the Breakfast Club For...Well, Lunch by Ray Printer Friendly

Hangin' out, drunk people roaming like some Native American tribe that doesn't understand the meaning of "straight line."

So many things spinning out of control that it can make you vomit if you pay attention for a little too long. Friends gathered witha booze-covered booze, falling off the ceiling with a good hearty laugh and another beer.

The City is some odd year-and-a-half-long mirage, some dream that you can't imagine having unless you've been a NYC resident, and when it's over, your brain just kind of shakes it's head and wonders what the hell just happened.

So here we are, surrounded by friends and others, trying to pop the clutch at just the right moment so that the vehicle keeps moving without burning out the engine.

Elvis has lost the building, ladies and gentlemen, and he's selling cheap crack on the corner for whatever he can get.


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