I Hate That So Much. And I Was There With You

It was a depressingly familiar tale of Bullingdon Club style hijinks. The feet that had reduced these meatheads to ore had been committed in one of those big catering trays that holds five dozen eggs, each on their own little cardboard egg cup. To me it was like having to listen to the expository dialogue from a badly written thriller at Volum and Evan. And it made it impossible to get back to sleep.