Drabble: No hangover.

Warm and Fuzzy All Over!

The empty bottle of Don Carlos tequila, imported from Grizzly Hills, rolled under the chair, landing with a chunky clink. It was made from the rare desert plants of the Badlands, distilled with vulture-hatchling tears and demon smiles. So smooth, crystalline, and deceptive—it was a cold shot with a slow burn. The sound woke up Matty, finding herself feeling—wonderful. She smiled. What a charming way to wake up. Endings mean beginnings, and there was no harm in the transition of the hours. She had bagfuls of fortune, friends, and favors, and the unmarked year: she loved it already. 
I ain’t got time for your demo…
Maybe if the Mayans and Nostradamus are right, this will be the way we all go out this year…

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