I’d started playing poker when the calendar said June and I knew I had enough saved up to survive for the next couple months while I looked for another job. So when an anthropomorphic firework said it was the Fourth of July, I panicked. I think it was a Sunday night, maybe early Monday morning, but meth makes timelines fuzzy and booze makes everything else a blur. On the third day of my gambling binge, a grandma dressed as a pharaoh said there would be purple unicorn charms at a graveyard.
