[There's this very soaked-to-the-bones guy, leaning very dramatically against the wall of a random, closed store somewhere in town. Both hands just as dramatically clutching his head.]
Nnnno no no no, [actually correction:] those were NOT bunnies. Bunnies don't. Fly. Flying bunnies mean someone put something in the drinks.
[Ugghhhh. Isn't a regular hangover enough on its own?]
Great. At least the rain's probably real. Feels very real.
[That's, you know. Something.]
I'm gonna kill Miguel.
[Or Chel. It was probably Chel. He'll still probably kill Miguel instead of her.]