It started with a single glass of pălincă that tasted like lightning and ended with me trying to explain the concept of democracy to a stray cat in an alleyway behind the Old Town. By midnight, the world had lost its sharp edges. The cobblestones felt like soft sponges, and every streetlamp was a miniature sun pulsing in time with the bass from a nearby club.
I didn't recognize the key. I didn't know where it came from. But as I stumbled toward my apartment, the "time traveler's" words rang in my ears. NOAPTEA-N CARE RAU M-AM IMBATAT
The title was a warning I’d ignored, etched in the neon flicker of a sign outside a bar that smelled of damp wood and poor decisions. "The Night I Got Truly Wrecked" wasn’t just a summary; it was becoming a prophecy. It started with a single glass of pălincă