Why can't you indent? I want to indent.
We arrived in Portland around two in the afternoon. I felt sick with caffeine and rotten with snacks. My stomach wailed. Jawsh and Isaac bought food from the pods. I watched them eat. Tried not to. We were so dead we went back to our room and decide to take it easy. Spent about an hour looking for a liquor store (very stupid kids). Isaac and I got wasted. Jaws played fucking League of fucking Legends and tried to distract us by letting us reign room service. First rule in Portland: NO LAYING DOWN TILL NINE PM. I jumped on the beds. "Who jumps on beds anymore?" "I do," I responded. Had the worst Chardonnay in the world. Tasted like the swamp. But I'm almost certain I was pretty-face plastered. I hate Plaid Pantry. Do you understand? Isaac and I passed--died--crossed the other side at exactly eight fifty-eight, if I remember correctly. I woke up in the wrong bed at one in the morning. Tried to go back to sleep, but it was dark and they were snoring, and I was starving. I took a shit while taking a call with Mikal. My phone died so I sat in the dark on the desk that I claimed my office. For a while, I watched them sleep. Not as creepy as you imagine, probably. Then I watched the rain a while. Then I found a bag of popcorn and tried to eat as quietly as I could--I failed. Finally went back to sleep around four maybe five. I had a nightmare about a fucker named Dennis Demure. If I ever meet a Dennis Demure, I swear I'll find a way to have my hands around his fucking throat. Watch him bleed. Lick the blood from my fingertips. Then I'll gradually start killing my friends... I digress...
I won't delve into all the details of the rest of the trip, because what kind of a shitty blogger would I be if I committed to sharing all the damn details? I need my mystique. I need to choke on a damn mystique.
