I mean, the guy handing out eggnog (with extra nog available) likely did lead to a hangover, but this is something different.

The burner warehouse offered an event last night (these sorts of things happen right under your nose, but as with a speakeasy, you have to know when and where they are) with food, fire dancing (because of course they did), some serious house and trance, copious amounts of alcohol and weed, and of course a few different fire pits.

There were three tiers for tickets: Free, $15 and $30. I opted for option 1.

The friend who introduced me properly to the burn scene felt inclined to come out last night, so we’d occasionally cross paths, and then once we’d kind of tapped out, we retreated to his van.

He has a dog that really brings all the girls to the … drainage ditch. So we’re drinking beers and shooting the shit while a woman plays with his dog a few feet away.

All in all, a wonderful night. I made new acquaintances, ate some OK food, heard some good tunes and hung out with the guy who’s become my closest friend in the past couple of years.

But then, you wake up alone in a trash-filled van and realize that was fiction.