Well, it’s 2015 (It’s so hard to believe that 1915 was a whole hundred years ago, isn’t it?) and that epic New Year’s hangover, that made you feel as though a diseased ice weasel was gnawing upon your temporal lobe, has at last begun to wane. The bulging puddles of vomit you pass on the way to work each day have dried into lumpy blobs of bilious concrete and the dead and the dying are finally being carted away by city workers.
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 