Conversation with a friend who copes with alcohol and somehow makes an odd comparison between our two very different coping tactics:

G: You get bruises on your tits, I throw up. Battle scars, right?

Nox: The price we pay for pleasure, I suppose. Although, I adore my venereal scars, figurative and literal ones, whereas, I don’t believe you could enjoy dispensing your stomach contents into a toilet bowl very much. That’s the difference between you and I; I take pleasure and pride in my battle wounds.