Around 6 on the morning, I bid farewell the night and snooze myself off for a while.

Here’s the stories of last Friday’s party gone a bit crazy at our place…

There is still blood on the bathroom. People laying around here and there. Broken bottles everywhere…

Our landlord (the actual host of the party) sliced off his veins. People´s spirits heating up almost to the point of actual hitting. Think some of them did friendly wrestled… Someone threw a bucket of dirty water down the stairs, and bathed a roomie.  I hear the tales of our newest roomie who sliced off a dog’s throat, he said in revenge. Cool addition to the pack.

My mood set to wariness.

Seems like they managed to bandage our landlord and get him back on the party.

What had seem a cool place to live: a huge house -furniture included, an inexpensive, large room, a relaxed university campus-like setting, even a little (yet-to-be-filled) pool… is slowly starting to become a dark spot I fear arriving to, or leaving my stuff in.

Around midday I wake, a bit dazed, go wash my mouth in the blood splattered sink thinking what really happened there, and the ones who arrive to stop this guy wouldn’t have make it earlier.

I talk to my roomie, think on planning to flee.

…

Then, black night arrives and cover us in darkness. Time to start drinking again…