On my 25th birthday, the girls and I went partying all night. We hopped clubs and danced like we weren’t wearing heels. We started drinking at 9, stopped at midnight to eat greasy biryani at a midnight buffet, drank some more, got in a brawl with the police, stopped at a sandwich joint at 4 am and finally came back home at 5. We then posed in the lawn outside my home and took a photo. We looked a bit off but we looked good. We even posted that picture on Facebook.
Cut to 2015; partying “all night” ends at 2 pm, with one weepy sad drunk, one feeling sick, one throwing up on every free surface and one becoming suicidal-y depressed. We took a photo, but we had to delete it right there and then.
Live fast, die young. That was my motto, until now, when it’s too late to die young. I would live fast, but it gives me acid reflux.