Late night incoherence
Ice wine. I forgot to mention that I invested a distressing amount of money in a very not-distressing bottle of ice wine while in London. Ice wine tastes like heaven.
If, that is, heaven existed.
And, furthermore, if I knew what heaven tasted like.
And, further still, if heaven could actually taste of anything.
Which, if it could taste of anything, would taste like ice wine.
Which tastes like heaven.
I am big on circles, and, as it is near midnight and I require sleep, small on coherence.