There I was again. Dimmed lights, closed curtains, and a bottle of whiskey biting my taste buds. The thoughts were skating off my tongue, making it to the scraps of paper with a finishing piruet. I was writing again. Ok, fine, it might have been not me, but Bukowski back in the days. Probably would be more realistic to say I was lazily rolled and twisted half on, half off the sofa, while quickly scanning the environment, making sure my boyfriend doesn’t notice that I’m eating