The Legend of Half Beard

Sleep. It never comes soon enough and always leaves before it should... I turn myself, the coolness of the grass on my face vanishes, and is replaced with nothing. I stir, pick the twig out of my halfbeard, get up and go inside to the fridge. I crack a beer, and rummage through the contents of the fridge, yet nothing seems appetizing. I can still taste it, an odd combination of dirt, blood, and gummie bears. I had been there once before, and never did it cause the destruction of buds like it did this time. A mix between hot wax and glue, not sure of whether it was solid or liquid. I light up another cigarette, and take a big swallow of Schlitz. Still doesn't kill it. My head is pounding. I close the fridge, and wander back outside. I need to do this. Should I ask for my money back? One thing is for sure, I'm never eating at that burrito stand again.