new wave

pink checkerboard floor. a sputtering, spitting, liquid crack dispenser. 33 pages to go and all i can do is listen to the guy behind me reminisce with his friends about when he first started dating his current wife. "she told me she knew she was going to marry me before we ever even went out. i feel like i didn't have a choice in the matter." poor girl, i think. you're so lucky to have a woman who wants to love you for eternity. the guy at the table next to me seems thoroughly annoyed at having to hear this story, but not annoyed enough to get up and leave.

i left a long time ago. it feels like a waking dream being here.

dirty hipsters, caricatures of the "neighborhood kids," dressed in neon prints i used to wear before i dressed myself.

i must have superimposed childhood garb.

neurons firing in my brain or subconscious thought?

there is new art on the walls. they look like pieces i've seen before, maybe on a sunday afternoon excursion once.

i've been here before and i like it less now. today i like everything a little less.

1,000 foot steps today, farther away from him than yesterday yet still the world seems a little more grey, even as i surround myself with neon covered faces and neon covered spaces and not even the tiniest of traces of places we used to go.

the harder i try to forget, the more i'm forced to remember.

now there is lack of choice: being reminded.