Stumbling about, you shoved the Big Mac in your mouth like you hadn’t eaten in a week. The two of us were drunk, you slightly more than I. We had ordered chips and a drink along with our burgers not long after we left the pub, but you threw yours at a speeding taxi after the lads inside heckled you as you danced like a loon in the street. Grabbing hold of mine, I resisted you the best I could until, desperate to keep hold of my food, I pushed you into a bush. Crying out as you fell, you kicked your legs in the air like a child throwing a hissy fit, and I laughed hysterically until the bile in my stomach spilt from my grinning lips, splattering the ground at my feet. Leaning in to pull you out after wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, you yanked me down, and we kissed, surrounded by a mass of sleeping insects. The lights of the passing traffic shone brightly through the dying leaves, and for one, brief moment, life was the dream we both wished it to be. Pulling you to your feet minutes later, I brushed you down and picked the leaves out of your hair, but because your hair was so curly back then, it felt like it took hours. When I was done, you ran into someone’s garden and kicked over a flower pot before running back to my side again, chattering your teeth either through delirium or the cold. Bemused by your antics, I rolled us a cigarette, and together we smoked, walking hand in hand through the cemetery, mindful not to make too much noise because although we didn’t respect the living, we did the dead. Resting your head on my shoulder, you whispered to me that you were a baby, and as the stillness of the night pinched the back of our necks, you were sad, mad and teeming with a sense of magic louder than war.