On a scale of 1 to Cary Grant, how classy is drunk texting with your ex after punching
your arch riv,
your frene, ...,
your fri ,
your best fri... Ollie Queen until he fucking pukes?
Was I celebrating my victory? Wallowing in self pity from the last couple couple of weeks? The only thing I have to go on is the Costco Receipt, the pounding headache I can't shake and my own heavy sense of shame.
...I think I need to go die now.