Cold Medina

          On Christmas Eve, I was woken by a call from a BPD detective inquiring about Alaric's mugging. I then slept for the entire day and some of the night too, rising from my coffin at 8 p.m. I decided to do some housework, smoked, and moved erratically from task to task. I watched a couple episodes of Jessica Jones, which I'm enjoying in a slow-burn way akin to The Wire. Tiring of that for the night, I started in on Narcos and watched a few installments, glued to the television. This show is larger than life; Wagner Moura is brooding and scary as Pablo Escobar. I walked around, turning on lights and opening all the windows -- 60 degree weather on Christmas? -- and went to sleep as the sun came up.