It’s not fair that some songs have to end... a night of fried chicken, waffles and good friends, talk and Boggle... we eat, we laugh and one can be forgiven for believing in a higher power... sure the alcohol plays a part... Shoe decides her new blog will be all the Boggle words she came up with tonight, if only we can find the paper in the morning before her kickball game... things are easy and we all, drunk on malt liquor and home-made sangria, bow down in our own unconscious and not-too-obvious manners to pay homage to whatever it is that is left to believe in during these doomed and jagged days... outside the rain is unexpected and welcome, cursed and embraced, the liver bulges with an unholy alliance of Mickey’s, OE, and PBR... the tongue-in-cheek erupts in my stomach, the only stomach willing to stomach such a concoction, this is the now, the here, the only way to be... tall friends with vaginas recently departed for familiar beds, the rain smattering on government issue spectacles and all and all and on and on stealing my ability to put this into words that anyone, including me, will be able to decipher as a new sun cracks over an ancient horizon... this is all we have... enjoy it while you can...
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