Salud. Do it. Get the sunburn. Cry in the airport bathroom. Write a bad poem about it later. The hangover fades, but the story is yours forever.
Let’s uncork the bottle and examine the chemistry, the iconic storylines, and the inevitable hangover of falling in love with a foreigner who speaks three languages—none of which are the same as your last name. Why does this happen on every Gap Year, Erasmus, and Cruise Ship contract? drunk sex orgy international summer fuckers top
The drunk international summer relationship is a literary genre unto itself. It is not a one-night stand, nor is it a long-term relationship. It exists in the messy, humid, romantic no-man’s-land between "What’s your name again?" and "I will fly to see you in November." Cry in the airport bathroom
Do not try to turn a summer romance into a winter mortgage. Let it be what it is: a beautiful, tragic, glittering bubble. Let’s uncork the bottle and examine the chemistry,
So, raise your glass (plastic, rimmed with salt, slightly warm).
May the storyline live forever in your camera roll.