The stories are always better at night. Exaggerated with whisky and Camel Filters, Cure songs and Special K, the age old tale of boys that chase boys and the girls that love them. It gets easier with age, they tell me....but what if the worst time of my life really is the best time of my life? Maybe the lies I told myself to make me like myself are the reasons that I don’t. Hmm...well pretentious pondering and empty bottle self analysis isn’t pretty and rarely gets on with the show, but angst...angst is always sexy. The fresh scar underneath the scab...that’s what this story is. The brutally lovely night stories...