"We aren't able to locate you" -- Grindr.
In a straight bar, on my fifth whiskey-coke. The treble from the corner speakers cuts my ear drums, a low-grit sandpaper. The kids are talking about cocaine and adderall. I could use some weed, or a sobering three-mile walk home. It's quarter-past ten, and I'm thinking about bed, or about taking the suave teddy-bear to the bathroom with me. He joked that 5 more beers might do it.
"Running through the dark woods; fallen, couldn't see straight. I was only looking for a Human to reciprocate."
No comments:
Post a Comment