What seems like a very long time ago, I lived with someone nearly as strange as myself, and one of the products of our many drunken stumbles home was the theory that one's social status could be measured by how publicly one could do a rail off coke off a prostitue.

It's been...
*checks non-existant watch*
...about three days, and for the record, I'd just like to say that I'd give my left fucking arm for some fucking sugar, right fucking now.

Two straight nights of, if not excessive, then certainly ill-advised drinking, and my first time doing cardio since university, add up to my feeling like someone's been hitting me with cacti while I wasn't looking.

17:40-ish: New Oxford Street, London, United Kingdom

Southern Twang: Excuse me...
Your Helpful Correspondent: Yes?
ST:Do you know where Russell Street is?
YHC: Sure...the streets around here are a pretty messed up though, let me show you-
ST: Oh! You're American!
YHC: No.
ST: ...
Secondary Southern Twang: I've got this map here...
YHC: Right, so you're on New Oxford Street here. You need to go up here...