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postmidnight, 30-some hours till
back to the books, the party had
hit high
gear. Pot smoke hung, a skunky
green curtain, but I didn’t want to
fall low
so I indulged in another big snort
before inhaling a couple of tiny tokes,
mostly
to satisfy the incredible urge to pollute
my lungs. I topped that off with a Marlboro,
landing
on just about the perfect plane, just about the
place I wanted to be. Not too speedy, not even close to
straight
falling into the yo-yo rhythm of crank, pot,
beer, tobacco, the sensational motion and emotion,
up and down,
Bre
ndan hanging tight, though I suspected
he might desert me, take off on a flirting binge. And,
oh, god,
the jealous stares of girls I had envied
not long before, girls suddenly, strangely on fire to
know me,
though they had never once in the past returned
my smile. And now, instead of Kristina, they got to
know Bree.
Brendan Stoked the Fire
Let’s take a walk.
