Decisions, Decisions...

Hungover or not, I did still have a big decision to make:
Take the dream job but live in the desert (literally and figuratively) of my adolescence? Or stick it out in the city and hustle my wares on the street corner until somebody hires me as a real bonafide literary artiste?

I think they only do that if you're the phony gay son of a prostitute. Bummer.

But so I consulted with everyone and anyone I could, to try to gain some insight and come to some kind of conclusion that wouldn't leave me nauseous about the prospects.

Of course, the lingering taste of Jamesons didn't really help with that much.