The road glitters
Like tar flecked with diamonds.
I'm warm from the buzz of graduating from wine to liquor.
My mouth tastes of cinnamon
And the cool air feels blissful against my skin.

Though their faces seem happy to see me,
I don't know these people.
They know my name,
But not why I came.

There is an odd sense of community on the dance floor.
I'm drinking a clear fluid that tastes like fruit loops.
Strangers are spliffing in the garage.

I don't check the time
Because I'd like to pretend it doesn't exist.