i’ll be your girl for the night. i like throwing myself into the careless, wandering hands of degenerates every once in a while. you’re throwing up in your hat in the back of a gypsy cab. the driver keeps stopping every 30 feet. he’s sweet about it, passing you napkins. i’m trying hard not to laugh but it’s sneaking out through the gapped fingers over my mouth. it’s 4:30 and we’ve been both been drinking so much and know nothing of each other but we’re having fun and i can’t feel my feet or my brain or really anything. 30 something year old men leaning towards me behind pool tables while you’re in the bathroom. “can i kiss you?”  i don’t really know how to respond so i laugh out of nervousness and shrug and kinda pace around the table. “is that your man?” he says. the pool stick is so sticky, covered in beer and weird hand oils and god knows whatever else. i lean over the green felt, pretend to comprehend angles and geometry and try to elongate my body as best i can. girls and pool tables are all very ****** and what not.

i can’t stop laughing in the back of that cab and you can’t stop saying sorry