Those Final Hours
Absinthe and rummy, the perfect mix of liquor and cards.
“It’s snowing,” I said to them, “and I just don’t give two fucks about going out tonight.”
You know… because this is the night. Saturday. Social protocol.
The dining room light flickers in collaboration with the space heater switching on or off, as if the purpose was to give one an epileptic attack.
Things are changing… are going to be changing, flight after flight, city after city.
It is hard for me to believe that this change begins on Monday.
I embrace it anyway, with the rather queasy stomach of a sky diver.
“It’s snowing,” I said to them, “and I just don’t give two fucks about going out tonight.”
You know… because this is the night. Saturday. Social protocol.
The dining room light flickers in collaboration with the space heater switching on or off, as if the purpose was to give one an epileptic attack.
Things are changing… are going to be changing, flight after flight, city after city.
It is hard for me to believe that this change begins on Monday.
I embrace it anyway, with the rather queasy stomach of a sky diver.