Post-Modern Drunk: Planets Crash, The World Goes Nova
You stood there for a long time, watching the bus as it prepared to leave. You were far enough away so that if I hadn't spent the week memorizing you, I might not have recognized you. Were you waiting for me to come to my senses, to rush off the bus and come back to you? Or were you just acclimating yourself to sea level after our trip to great heights?

Can you breathe yet where you are?

I can't. I'm not sure I want to. Not yet. It's too hard.

I should have gotten off the bus.

You should have gotten on.

We should have just angled the car west.

I never should have left for work the other day.

We should have climbed down into the sinkhole.

Down there, all the complications that doom us, all our problems, all the reality, it would just pass us by. We could curl up and wait.

Every choice we've made has been the wrong one. But we've never been offered the right one.

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stars exploding in the night, or electric eels under the covers				in defense of offense

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