A buff of cigar smoke and an autumn in the park candle on a
60 degree December night after my last glass of pink grapefruit sangria.
It is 5:00 a.m.
Christmas is over.
I'm reading a book titled "It's Kind of a Funny Story". The story involved a young man named Craig who enjoys ******* in the dark and drawing Paper Towns.
I cannot tell if I am a part of a funny story or a sad one.
I cannot tell if I am happy or sad.
I can only say that my eyes droop when I'm tired
and my head's a little fuzzy
and Craig's forehead is pretty damp
and so is mine
and the depression is winning.
It is 5:00 a.m.
It is the night after Christmas and we can't sleep.
The air is thick and sweaty.
My brother's girlfriend underlined, "But your relationship with air - that's key. You can't break up with air. You're kind of stuck together".
Now, I don't know my brother's girlfriend but it is clear that Craig and I are not alone in this feeling.
She must have felt it too.
We depressed people - We're kind of stuck together.