Cloverfield

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Her eyes contain bathwater and the echoes of tumbling skyscrapers the likes of which I’ve never seen. They feed me alcohol even though I’m trying to quit, but whenever the burn hits my stomach and reduces me despite my best efforts at appearing in control of all things, it’s difficult to say no. Growing my beard, the random faces of strangers look at me blankly, and even though I dance in an attempt to break the ice, no one seems that interested. Stumbling onto the balcony and pissing over the railing until my entire body shudders, some random girl appears then tuts before storming off. It could be London, but it feels more like Wycombe. Saturday night. Cigarettes and eyelashes on the end of pale fingertips. From bar to bar we get fucked up and find ourselves beneath the bridge where I used to kiss Sarah after work all those years ago. Has it really been that long? How is it even possible that once upon a time she would stand on tip-toes and kiss my mouth in the dark months of October and November until the snows of January came and wrapped us in a romance we never knew existed? Shaking my head, someone asks for a piggy back. Kneeling down, they jump on, and I nearly buckle at the knees. Laughing until my lungs burn, I snort like a horse as the night dissolves so easily like the way tissue-paper blooms in a cup of water. Running into a field as others cheer my efforts, I lose my footing and fall flat on my face with my passenger landing in a heap on top of me. Rolling around on the wet grass, we howl at the massive clouds until she kisses my lips before disappearing. Being lifted by unknown hands, I’m on my feet and dancing again as newspaper sheets blow all around us in the wind. Tomorrow will mean a hangover that reduces me to shell; it means that death will flow through my veins until I’m on the verge of coming apart, but tonight I’m free. Free to be who I want to be, and free to exist wherever feels best. Skipping down streets as demons chase my tail, they can take my body, but they’ll never get my soul. Heading inside some club to keep the night alive, I ask the DJ to play Easy Lover by Phil Collins, but he just tells me to fuck off.

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