420 at The Continental, Apparently
Mondays are best handled with a bit of stimulus. Or stimulants, if we’re being honest. So when April 20th, or 420, lands on a Monday, you can trust the F*ck Monday crew to make it… productive.
You may have heard of The Continental. Or maybe you’ve just wondered about it. Why it exists, who’s funding all those immaculate floors, how something that polished manages to exist. Last Monday, we got answers.
Not that any of us will remember them.
Nights like these don’t leave you with clarity, they leave you with clues. A sore…. Okay, let’s not get into the details. Sitting down was just hard the last couple of days. I had a vague sense of having been somewhere I probably weren’t meant to be. The occasional existential question. By Tuesday morning, I had a dry mouth, a headache, and absolutely no reliable memory of how I got home. Luckily, I brought a camera.
Because it turns out we spent the night in what someone casually referred to as “the money-making department” of The Continental. I remember hearing “greenhouse” on Sunday and, in a moment of optimism, picturing something leafy. Something calm with nice plants.
We did get plants. Just… not the kind you water.
And judging by the state I woke up in, I’d say business was booming.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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