A word of advice

I'm sitting in a public restroom stall at a Munich subway station, feeling poorly. From time to time, someone clears their throat wetly in the booth next to mine. I have no idea how I'm going to manage the remaining hour of my one-and-a-half hour commute to work.

Later on the train, I have time for reflection. After a good binge, the feeling on the next day is like waking up, feeling bad and slowly rising back to the land of the living during the day. Only today, my ascent seems slower than usual. I feel more like the walking dead. I have become trapped in one of the intermediary regions of hell, doomed to roam the land as a zombie, walking slowly, mumbling at people and going to the toilet a lot.

Never drink Rappen Weihnachtsbock that has been out of refrigeration since January. Even if there is absolutely nothing else.