Sins would turn 23 in 23 minutes. He realised the fact that his mind had automatically thrown the statistic at him, which meant, horror of horrors that, his brithdate actually meant something to him.
He introspected this matter for 23 seconds, and decided to sleep. But he couldn’t. Although, he understood the hype about birthdays was a farce, and nothing but a chance to create chaos in the name of happy celebration, every year, he would feel a sense of foreboding as the clock inched, second by second, to midnight.
Sins closed his eyes, and opened it again, feeling empty, blankness seeping inside his brain, numb with alcohol.
He knew what he had to do, the purpose staring at him, with clear, concise eyes, calling him like a lover crooning her voice, and stressing his name with seduction.
With 23 seconds to go for his birthday, Sins hit the bare floor, having ripped 7 bong shots in a row, his mouth still slightly open, and exhaling the holy smoke.