It's taken me since friday to truly deal with what took place last friday night. If you weren't there, which none of you were, I expect that you have some ideas as to the calamity which probably ensued. If you're a really good friend of mine, which most of you are, if I told you that I invited all seven people I knew in the city and yet twenty five people showed up to my party you wouldn't be surprised. Also, if you're a really good friend you'd probably not be surprised by the fact that during one of my numerous "dark times" during the night I was standing on the ledge of a balcony on the sixth floor during a party that we crashed, walking around having a grand ol' time; we were quickly escorted out of said party. And you see where the night went, use your imagination. The greatest thing about it is that I was actually drinking water all night, and around 2 AM I sobered up and gained my wings.
Four men stood in a kitchen ranting. Two men left.
Conor and I discussed Cormac Mccarthy and saw the blue, cloud-filtered sunrise from inside our apartment while music played at a hush.
I smoked my last cigarette and staggered to bed where Les had been asleep, peacefully, since 1 am.
I had a fantastic sleep. The skies wept all day,
"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die."
Or so he thought.
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