It's 1:35 AM. The oil is bubbling away nicely, and the smell of crackling garlic is tantalizing. The garlic confit only has 9 minutes on the clock. There is an old, staled loaf of half-eaten bread. The fridge is empty, and the bag of shredded Parmesan is empty. The Cheese Goblin has gotten to it first.
I fall to my knee, anguished. There is no late-night garlic bread for me.
Just added yet another half a dozen ideas to my "Inspirations and Idea" document, bringing it to *check note* 37 pages of ideas, yet not enough time to write
Another day of exploring the city, I stumbled into a speakeasy. It was /fun, but the music was eh. Not enough jazz. Cool place and the drink wasn't too pricey.
There is nothing I can do, but watch as the garlic crackled and the oil bubbles, tortured but its divine fragrance.