I smoked my first and last cigarette on your porch after consuming six nameless beers (that made me too drunk.) I thought: this is how I die. I thought: I’m not going to die. And I remembered that

I created this memory before it happened. You sang notes in your soprano my alto was jealous of. There was no grass, but cement and I had wished that you told me you

lived in the ****** part of town. A man came up and asked for our butts. I giggled, take the rest. There was a mason jar of damp butts and he stole them from you a week earlier. I

wanted to finish the eighteen pack but my body was so full and there was only one night to sleep on your mattress on the floor with quilted murmurs. Can I remember the ghost and the German Internet boys? I woke up still drunk and you drove me to Jacksonville.