there are more hours than 24

Together we are drama. We are cartoon hearts tainting the air with palest skin-flush pink, bloodiest warlike red and starless tarry black, that are born to swell unto bursting. -Pop- We are star-crossed, brave, and idiots. We are in love. It happens.

Complete with balcony scene, wherefore in the garden of my heart, my love, you are a flower I carry with me, I missed the last bus of the night, go, you, sleep, it calls you. No matter, I was feral. A cat predatory that stepped into Numbers and scanned for possible recognition. Eventually I danced, last call ushering my feet to the floor. I was the only female in the entire five level club, the lean boys looking at me as if I were an unexpected creature. They tried to pick me up anyway, wrong move, bad times. No word spoken but for stiff arm, flat hand pushing away, the exhaustion pouring off me in sticky waves backed by something much harder and far more frightening. When the lights went out, I didn’t know my name.

Skully works at the sex shop now, has for five months. A nice discovery. We talked for an hour plus, playing catch-up and handing out tokens to the 25c movie booth people. His night shift looks to match up to the days I might be caught downtown in future. I lost a lot of people when I vanished into my accident and my last relationship. Testament fact, the bus strike, my life caught in the middle. I walked with a cane, I said, and his eyebrows rose. You? No fire spinning anymore? That’s like saying “Well, I’m a writer but my right hand’s been cut off”. It’s a reminder to run into older friends, the ones who have a gap in our time seeing.

The rest of the night was spent in the Davie Street Blenz. The barista and I talking about education and russian history until watery light seeped into the sky. I’m glad I’ve found a friend. He lives by Tyler and works most night. Eleven to seven, time to drop by.

I woke this evening to find that my friend Bobbi might be losing custody to his son Tempest. I’m needed. I must go.