Friday, September 4, 2009

in the computer lab PK walks over, leans close, almost touching but not: want to get stoned? we drive twelve miles up I-5 to his apartment nestled atop a steep incline. idling in the driveway, he says stay here. three minutes later, emerges with a small tupperware square. one hit: he’s blitzed, mutters a prophecy or two about aliens, impending doom, then sorry haven’t smoked in months. dusk pushes up against the windshield. i lean back, close my eyes, and touch his leg don’t worry. i already like you. he cracks the window; smoke swirls up, dissolves in the moonlight. when i pass the pipe, he shakes his head no then asks how old are you? i ignore the question. how old? he quite literally places a hand on my shoulder: yr only twenty-three don’t you think you oughta slow it down? his voice like wheat being cut. i light my last cigarette: slow it down from what?

when i leave i drive around the city, letting the strung-out breeze fill the car. T calls and says come watch the magnolias drop. sprawled on the hood of his car, we split a burrito the size of my head, drink kamikazes, sweat through our jeans. with our mouths full of salt and grease, we talk about john wieners. left me here/3 AM/no Sign. T rolls a cigarette, paper sticking to his fingertips, lips. awww shit. dawn. T drops me off on sidewalk outside my duplex. the sunlight all but swarms.