“It languished in the vault” by Sasha at her desk


Monday, August 29, 2016
11:34am
5 minutes
rollingstone.com

Grizz drinks forties on Tuesdays, tall boys on Wednesday and Thursdays, and Jamaican spiced rum on the weekends. Mondays are for sobering up, if you can call it that. He’s organized in his alcohol chaos. He’s been growing a beard since Easter and since we started planting, he hasn’t been trimming his cheeks or his neck. He’s the Woodsman. All the girls here wanna bang him, and the guys wanna be him, and he’s too drunk to know the difference. Our supervisor, Alex, who comes to camp once a week, is charmed by him, just like the rest of us. He turns a blind eye to it, even supplying some of the poison. He thinks he’s helping, keeping us all happy, but he’s not.

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