in the moment, it's like a motel bedroom with no furnishings, a blanketed inexistence, like backroom deals,
hands shake, exchanges made,
players in a game that you'd think no one ever played.
in that moment, it was a garage with trash filled floors, crusted couches, a blanket and maybe a thrill,
memories fade, so they say,
but who's to blame when some memories decide to stay?