Joie de Vivre

At 6:30am, on a Monday morning, there is Latin music blasting from the apartment next door. Several people are shouting along with the music. Dancing is implied. Since I spent much of my weekend in Brooklyn, I cannot guarantee that this party is contiguous with the one that began Friday evening, but I am beginning to suspect. While I admire their audacity, this is perhaps going too far.

In these circumstances, I began to ponder my own mortality, and whether or not I should have spent the entire weekend drinking Sparks (may perpetual light shine upon it).