On our way to one of the weekly "--- Moon" parties. It seems that each phase of the moon is accomapnied by glow sticks, over-priced booze and lots of chancers, skanking about and drinking from water bottles. You know the score.
Two feckless wanderers, thrown on the seas of chance. He's flotsam; she's jetsam in this crazy ocean we call life. Together, thet cause piratical mayhem as they prepare to splice the mainbrace in every new port of call.
Here endeth the terrible nautical analogy. Promise.
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