I declare this a lazy Saturday.
We'll drink scotch in our underwear,
share cigarettes and stories on the stoop.
And just once pretend we have
absolutely nothing better to do.
Measuring the hours passed
with the pots of coffee
And the empty cups.
Affectionate insults, used as currency,
Cure  us of our quarter-life ruts.
We'll mix  nonsense
and narcissism,
A cocktail for the unrefined.
We'll talk pop culture and trade white lies
And leave adulthood sulking on the steps outside.