We drink to die! We drink tonight!
Ben got older, so I took a train to his house, which was made entirely of women and nearly empty bottles. His new ladyfriend, a curvy thing with red hair and perfect lips and exquisite taste in hats, was introduced to society. I took up a new sport, and every time Ben left the room convinced new combinations of girls to take over his bed. The boys who stumbled into the room stood around looking nervous, but Ben and I, being gentlemen, were usually invited. I wandered the night with Beth. We got lost and were followed by packs of dogs. I sliced up my hand, anointing suburban streets with my own holy blood, terrifying the uninitiated. We kissed in the rain, under a bridge, against a church. The next morning the three of us were listening to music in his living room, singing to one another, hugging, dancing. It was saccharine but perfect. I'm in love with all of us, with these moments. We do nothing but bathe and praise the Fort, inventing and reinventing self-referential mythologies, building Babylon in a former Chinese restaurant in South Philadelphia. We have an anthem now, Psalms, a flag, auxiliary troops, and our parties are all exactly like this:
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