on that cold and rainy night
amidst delayed flights and the six strings on your guitar,
you told me that you got a concussion from playing soccer
a little too rough in my hometown
and how you couldn't wait to get drunk with your grandmother
on Thanksgiving.
you enjoyed going through the security line at the airport
because you "loved looking at your **** in boxes."
how did you and I end up coming from and going to the same place
without finding each other in between?