Nah, it's just my monthly absinthe budget down the toilet. (They're both supposed to make me happy, dat fungibility.)

I had to hide my sticker shock when I got rung up, doe; can't let that gal I flirt with there know I don't ball hard / hate myself so much that I won't pay to feel better.

On a tangential note, there are accounting programs that let you conduct sorcery like book negative debits (not credits) so I see all sorts of numbers' equivalent of red asphalt. I've even seen someone fuck up a balance sheet in QuickBooks so that it will never balance, which is impressive considering QuickBooks is almost idiot proof. All these memories gone, like tears in the rain.