Parked.
In a car.
In a car with rust spots.
In the backseat of a car with rust spots.
Three people in the backseat of a car with rust spots.
Three people passing a blunt and listening to the radio talk about dead people in different parts of the world in the backseat of a maroon car with rust spots, which is parked next to a splintered telephone pole; two in the front, and two outside.
Seven people laughing.
Three out of seven throwing up behind an beat up white work van from the 80's.
Hoods up.
Smiling.
Showing our bloody gumlines off to the world.
Listening to the cups exhale as the syrup swirls through the soda under the streetlight.
A fleeting catharsis hot-wiring two heady hemispheres for comfort.
Floating.
Spent my last five on a piece of pizza (chicken wing.)
My magic trick is making a minimum wage pay check disappear in a day.
My other trick is the ability to maintain until next Friday.
And tonight, the moon is showing off a pompadour.
And tonight I pretended to pee in a urinal in a casino bathroom while someone handed me pills.
Hoods up.
So Reckless.
And, yes, we are currently taking donations and kind-hearted words spoken softly into a cell phone.
Getting dome.
Perserving blood from a nose bleed.
Passing time.
Nothing else to do.
Nothing else to do.
Nothing else to do.
