Dear Diary,
I am walking through a tangled shrubbery, some barely trodden path, near where I live. Aye. It hath been a momentous night thus far. What with booze, sac, and the trimmings, Maxy Waxy finds himself in the Færie Forest, the Pixie Place, near to where I live, abandoned in the trail. They wanted me to go with them, to see a folk band I had already played with this night. Alas, no. This is my final port of call: home. Aye. No smoke. No more elven stardust. Just a wee dram o'the "special stuff" mingled with eight degree cyder. Aye. Let us drink deep, of what remains...
Maximus Fleximus.
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