Don't node drunk.
I can if I want to though.
I'm very very very very very drunk. I haven't yet shot the cat but I'm close to raddled.
Walked home alone at night through possum infested suburbs, admiring my very hot silhouette as exemplified by my shadow, which popped up on the footpath every few metres as I meandered past the streetlights. I like my shadow. It's wearing a dress that swirls along behind it. My shadow strides where I walk.
Did you know that women are conditioned from an early age to be scared of walking home alone at night? Even my closest friends are chary of letting me wander the streets alone. We spent the night challenging our assigned gender roles and setting metaphorical fire to the letterboxes of the patriarchy, but they still anxiously insisted that I text them once I was home.
Do you want to hear a horror story?
Once upon a time a woman was walking home after a night out with her friends. She held her house keys in one hand, poking out between her knuckles. She held her phone in her other hand. It was a warm and windless night, but possums scampered in the branches overhead, distant cars roared, and here and there the sounds of laughter drifted from backyards near and far as Friday night melted slowly into Saturday morning. The woman heard all these things, because she was walking alone at night. Would she reach her home? She didn't know.
There is no ending, because the woman is still walking. She walks forever, and she never knows whether she will make it home.