How you would tell the story would be more important than how it happened. How you would describe the calm moonlight on the river, reflected somewhere faraway, the lack of velocity in lighting dazzled and how you would describe who you were with, a boy 33 years old, naked with only a smile, watching the dark river’s only bright spot, the coke can floating adrift, stuffed with stubborness and how you would describe what you were thinking, that something had to happen, that the boy and you would have something like a life to live together, an entireness to poke a hole with your middle finger to peek into.

• BROWSE / IN TIMELINE
• « Interlude

• BROWSE / IN daily absurdity
• « Interlude

• RELATED / YOU MIGHT FIND THESE INTERESTING
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