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it’s the week before Christmas 1999, or, with the specter of Y2K, a couple of weeks before the collapse of civilization. Either way, I find myself at an all-inclusive resort in Cancun, Mexico, drowning my sorrows in cheap tequila.
By Martell Stroupit’s the week before Christmas 1999, or, with the specter of Y2K, a couple of weeks before the collapse of civilization. Either way, I find myself at an all-inclusive resort in Cancun, Mexico, drowning my sorrows in cheap tequila.