Mezcal

Mullard awoke cold, wet and hung over.  He had slept the night somewhere on the grounds of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa.  His downfall began at the gala opening of a franchise fish taco stand poolside; he and others had celebrated in the Bar with Mezcal shooters till closing.  Of course, as a courtesy, he was given the worm at the bottom of ever bottle.  Him being a bird; and all …

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