Toil in desperate futility.
Grand prize?
Death.
Tonight I drink deeply at the Dovre, in hopes of making a foolish ass out of myself in front of a girl I think I like. Wish me luck.
Grand prize?
Death.
Tonight I drink deeply at the Dovre, in hopes of making a foolish ass out of myself in front of a girl I think I like. Wish me luck.
...or maybe it's hormones. Mankind may never know.