On any offered evening, he’s still awake. He’s possibly watched just a little 30 Rock, South Park or Family man, their favorite shows. He’s smoked only a little weed, gotten a great small buzz working, strike the FORWARD switch on a couple of Twitters and destroyed himself in Modern Warfare 2. All cozy in sweatpants and a hoodie, he often turns in now; if he has gotn’t by 7 a.m., it is time for the Xanax or an Ambien. He products some coffee, consumes breakfast, brushes his teeth, strikes the bath and appears in the front of a good big cabinet (he invested about $200,000 on clothing a year ago) asking himself certainly one of life’s more essential concerns: “Who the fuck do I would like to be today? as he gets up, often around noon,”
Down the road, in a restaurant or club, he can need to simply take a drip and head right for the stall. (“I’ve {surely got to go right to the stall. We can’t obtain a flow that is good whenever I’m down in the whole world. However, needless to say, you run the possibility of individuals thinking you shit most of the right time.” He endures.) At night, he favors Lagavulin that is single-malt scotchand beverages of a container from it per week), but just in L.A.