Next door to me is a house full of aspiring yung clowns. It's something like a boarding house for mimes, jugglers and street performers. I woke up by the creek covered in spats of blood and raccoon fur, wearing someone else's clothing. When the clowns spike the Old Crow with tabs of acid, it's probably best to not chug the whole thing straight to your dome. I was told that the last they saw of me I was running down the street in my underpants. After a long while collecting my thots, I managed to find my way back home and spent the rest of the day on the roof of my house watching the clouds shapeshift.
High af.
