Dragged in

 For a man who just spares cigar ashes for the wind to dance upon, drenching himself in an expensive flask of wine, the world becomes a stage where he is both the audience and the performer, enacting a tragic comedy of his own creation. With each sip, he savors the bitter sweetness of life, and with each puff the bitterness sinks through his lungs, relishing the fleeting moments of euphoria amidst the constant flux of existence. In the flicker of a cigar's ember, he finds solace, a fleeting glimpse of stability in a world of impermanence. And so, he dances on the precipice of madness, a solitary figure in a crowded room, his laughter a symphony of chaos, his presence a paradoxical blend of despair and exultation. Not worrying if the world splits in half of collapses in one single penny, the only things that matter to him are his mere habits. Swaying from one smoke to another while listening to a cracked 90s vinyl, he finds peace and the love given to him by his flask and none else.

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