In this brutally honest and strangely poetic episode, we spiral into a scene that feels all too familiar—crying in a closet beneath a polyester pantsuit, gold shag carpet catching the fallout. Our narrator reflects on the absurdity of memory, the shame spiral that follows a rough night, and the oddly comforting realization that at least we didn’t drunk post.
We explore the quiet aftermath of chaos, the unforgiving mirror of self-criticism, and the bittersweet truth: sometimes forgetting is the only way forward. But in a world without internet receipts, who would we be?

🎧 Raw. Messy. Real. This is the kind of storytelling that reminds us all—we’ve been there.

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