It’s a night where moonlight filters down through dust-caked windows into a basement full of people trying hard to look cool. New sentences birthed and swallowed in the same breath, syllables dripping out through clenched teeth and chapped lips.
You
Were
All
That
We
Once
Had.
They’ll ask if you want to trip acid at 11pm. You say that’s ridiculous, those doses last twelve hours, you’ve got shit to do in the morning. The dancing girls, their heads bobbing, elbows swinging, their lit cigarettes too close to your arms. This closeness to another human being makes you shiver. You’ll think about your family, wonder if anyone has children who grow up to make anyone proud. You think too much about these sorts of things these days. You’ll grab another beer, you’ll force relevance, you’ll squeeze meaning through the fabric of a moment until you rend its screaming heart.
Mouth foaming, eyes wide, they’ll grab you by the shoulders. Slow down, they say. There’s no need to rush. We aren’t going anywhere, we’ll be here in the morning.
You close your eyes and nod because it’s what they want to hear and believing is better than knowing you’re right.
