Blackout
What just happened? Four months of rag-tag essays and trivial seduction, gone but not forgotten. The swings are worse than the temper of a wasted Samoan drug dealer at a roulette table in Vegas on New Years. The only grip is to stay in the green, pull off a threesome and avoid getting pistol-whipped by an angry pimp named Drexel.
It’s not even close to midnight. The hookers are out, but you’re not sure who they are. You trust your friends, but they’ll disappear at the sight of a stripper in pursuit of oral sex or a good story. Then you’ll be on your own to stumble amongst the fluorescent lights, mountains of blow and fake tits that lure you in every shadow. We have no idea.
It all seemed like a good idea at first. An experience. A right of passage into the broken realm of art and self-annihilation. Twisting the thoughts in your head, escape becomes reality. You have no idea where you are or what you're doing. In a world of modern love and static desire, intrigue and lies roll over us like clouds.
How would a guy like you go christams shopping? Would you just walk in and outa every store with out rythme or reason? Or do you get in, look, evaluate (too mnuch perhaps) and roll out?
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