I will probably ruffie my own drink and/or blow some scopolamine into my own face so a random stranger(s) will touch my body in inappropriate places, before he/she/they empty(s) my bank account, and clear(s) my upstair's bedroom of every personal belonging I have ever owned. Once he/she/they are done,he/she/they will leave, and I will pace the streets of the Heights for the rest of the night, and ask anyone I see if they know where the nearest death squad is currently located.
Because I'm the worst multiplied by a billion squared.
.
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