glass table with a bottle of pills, two red plastic cups, a broken bowl, and christmas lights reflecting off of the surface like stars. vodka drips off the table onto a tan carpet; ceiling fan rickety rackety; people trapped in glowing box jibber jabber till their jaws fall off; floor to ceiling windows and a view of brown trees and brown houses and street lights that glimmer like a smoker’s smile. a candle lit in the bathroom, it flickers and illuminates a picture of sinatra above the toilet; shower curtain extended across a pole like an ecdysiast. christmas around the corner but he’s suffering an identity crisis; a negro in a white suit, or a white suit in a negro, could never really tell. door slams and two bodies move from the apartment to a well lit hall. altered state of mind; dancing and clawing at wallpaper; random buttons on the elevator; pretty girls but not thinking of romance; hug and feel the curves, indy raceway, gran turismo, flesh on flesh, and that’s all it is, and her lips look good. she’ll turn you into a pig and ride you across town if you aren’t careful. across town a gathering; boys and girls inebriated; eight ball goes into corner pocket; sand across a shuffle board; shuffle to wooden patio; cigarette shuffles between teeth; promotheus and his gift from the gods; plume of gray floats to the heavens. god isn’t satisfied, those burnt offerings are a testament of the old; give of the flesh, and she looks good enough to do so, cain couldn’t be jealous.
take me out to dinner, she says.
crazy enough to do so.
twenty digits intertwined; twenty digits explored; twenty digits exchanged.
in bed; time enough to see her again in the morning.
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