When you get to your friend’s house, she asks you what’s got you so down, but you make up a lie about how your roommate’s back on their bullshit and watching anime again. That’s all you have to say to win your friend’s sympathy. She pulls out her collection of thumb drives, I mean cartridges, and starts talking about the assemblage of products with cutesy names like rave cookies and spicy diesel that you two can lose yourselves in for the rest of the day and into the night. By the time she starts talking about indigo or whatever, your cousin, who works as a bartender for a crappy bar to pay rent for his crappier flat, has left your phone a barrage of texts. Drinks are on him tonight, he says, since he’s in an especially good mood. Your gaze flickers from your friend to your phone. Decisions, decisions. Go to (G) to find out what the hell a rave cookie is or go to (J) to see your cousin light a round of shots on fire.