When the ball dropped at midnight and the gray ghost of Dick Clark arose from the depths of hell and all of the well-paid bunnies jumped out of the cake and sang Auld Lang Syne in perfect four part harmony I called the love of my life to wish her a happy new year and went back to snorting powder and guzzling Cristal with my important friends.
Well, that's not exactly accurate. I've told you before, I just can't lie. No, I'll toast this one to the lonely, the losers, the passive, the ones with the broken hearts. We've all got 364 days to forge a new plan. That next one- that's our year, boy. That's our year.
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