In fifteen minutes I'll be awake for twenty-four hours. That was last night, or this morning. Last night the smell was dreadful, the bums were out, more ruthless than normal because of the red carpet after parties, littering the gum spattered side walks. All confused over Hollywood, why aren't they a celebrity and why haven't they eaten for two days and why won't this girl give me money? "I just gave you two dollars man, just MOVE ON," said Patty blacked out drunk, and then she proceeded to threaten him with drug use, "I know two dollars isn't enough to buy meth but three dollars is! Just go!"
We sat and watched to see if we could recognize anyone. I only did when I heard names in the background, and made my own connections. Oh yeah, Jan from the Office, I don't want T.V. Someone said they saw L.L. Cool-Jay I'm pretty sure I've seen him in person before meaning that my excitement level would not exceed its current level, a burnt sienna on the rainbow scale. Yeah, that one time behind the scenes of the music video, I was totally there.
The scale was all over the bathroom. The sweater just popped out of the detailed painting with eyes like hollow commas and it made everyone's eyes look the same. Except for Patty's of course, hiding behind those expensive and smart looking glasses. The sidewalk smelled of soap and water, a loud purring of the trucks sounded and now I heard it again but from my kitten, Tony, sleeping next to me with his little paw resting me assurance. She glowed in the darkness as they walked in side by side, the three dykes linking arms like a bunch of fucking chaps when really all they do is question the meaning of their relationships by asking and trusting everyone but each other, and each one have it all wrong. She hugs me from behind, her skin cold form the outside and mine sweaty from the insulated cum stains on the walls. I trusted her to stay behind me for some reason. The band was playing, each member with a different tempo, but somehow with in milliseconds it all came together enough to make some sort of sense, but not enough to the most stubborn dyke at the moment, who has the BALLS to yell louder than the band, "THIS BAND FUCKING SUCKS!" Half of them looking like they are having the time of their life (only one time), and the other half looking bored as hell, as if they have to be up there, playing the loudest most noticeable instrument on the sidelines, but the one that takes the least amount of blood and sweat to play (synth). Barely even dancing. At least her skirt was stylish. It was great though, beautiful even to watch her talk so loudly with her hands yet still inaudibly to the birthday girl who they all came to see., but only for a moment before the alcohol took over and the night became a dream. Her backs to the synth player whose butterflies invisibly drop dead to the bottom of her nonexistent stomach.
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