Thirty-two. Adventure.

    Exotic was the word we felt. You rode beside me, small as we were on rickety
flippant and injured bikes, but it was so dark dark and your hair
your hair was *****, and the lights that neoned over our heads turned into lines and twists
fists of red and blue and green and the bricks were wet, like the dirt on the bottom of your shoes
shoes that we fled in, shoes that slapped water and collided with the pavement
You were just as cunning kniving knifing strafing dodging as I
and our lips cracked smiles of sharp white teeth and we ran
because we were bad, we were motors of deliberate disobedience
our eyes were glazed with dizzy daffodil poppyseed crushed ice and bottles hidden
and the room that was the city sky was spinning
weightless and confused and sure so sure, we broke window after window with rocks
and danced, out of character and space

I took you home late