I went ahead and got In-N-Out for breakfast. This skanky yet somehow adorable little club kid couple were comatose on the benches by the door, proof that when the meth finally wears off, you sleep where you fall.

If I had to guess, I’d say our 90’s raver-era Sid and Nancy crawled out of some after-hours sewer (most likely Avalon) sometime after the sunrise, walked like zombies through Hollywood until reaching In-N-Out, only to find that it doesn’t open until 10:30 on Sundays. They promptly passed the fuck out waiting for the promise of animal style cheeseburgers, and the security guard took pity and decided not to poke them with a stick.

Pretty sure they’re still there.