Giggle. Cuss. Drink. Repeat.

Did Bogart say it? Maybe. Maybe not. But some quotes survive because they feel cast correctly, and this one deserves a wrinkled suit, cigarette smoke, and a man staring into a glass like the ice cubes owe him money.

Years ago, I built a website. Then I added hundreds of memes, a novel-in-progress, blog posts, and occasional emotional damage disguised as entertainment. The only thing missing was an audience. Minor oversight.

The worst injuries I’ve ever suffered looked like absolutely nothing. No bruises. No blood. Just anonymous messages, rumors, a racing heart, and a room full of people who kept making space for the person setting fires.

No one could say who organized the garden party. Which should have been the first red flag. It looked perfect. Too perfect. String lights glowing like they had something to prove. Drinks dressed up with herbs no one actually wanted. People laughing half a second too late. Then someone handed Marla a note. Whisk eggs until compliant. Add red beets. Do not let them see you stir. Everyone else thought it was a joke. They stopped laughing when the first person was pulled to