The party

Last night: a song. Laughter. Sitting in the back seat of Stef's truck, feeling the sweet burn of hash pouring down my throat. The DeeJay insisting that I was a raver and he had the photographic evidence to prove it. Plans being made. Touchstones, rubbed.

Do we stink like pot?
Yeah, yeah. I think we do.

Standing outside of the Engineer's apartment, trying to compose ourselves, the Wee Ninja and I all squinty faced and doubled over laughing.

Step into my office.

What is it with men not understanding the size of my rat's genitalia? Every single one who comes into contact with him always comments about the size of his sack, or doesn't know what it is.

A hunger burning in my belly. Is it from the hash? I don't know. It could be. But, it might also be because I've gone all day barely eating a thing. Cake? Hummus? Sweet. Salty. Crunch crunch crunch.

Stef, the DeeJay, The Priest They Called Him, and I all sitting in a tight circle on the floor. Ideas and exchanges. Thoughts for the future. Memories of the past. Ignoring the yammering buffoon who insists on talking to everyone and no one.

I like the devil.


Me, in a not so distant universe.
Compliments of Thee Pumpkin Girl.