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December 10, 2001
Up on the fourth floor there wasn’t anyone to disturb me. I’d wake around noon. Stumble down to the wetbar on the second floor and start filling up glasses. Or sometimes soda cups to disguise the liquor.

Then I’d drink them down until I passed out.

I spent weeks my senior year doing nothing but making the walk up and down the stairs between fits of writing and spinning LPs on the stereo. Then, maybe once an hour, I’d crawl out on the fire escape and smoke a cigarette. At the time, I thought I was really living it up.