Nada

Well we can't go here again for a while. Early in the evening, what a neighborhood joint, what everybody-knows-your-name potential and later you get kicked out for being too drunk. Harrison Ford sits at the other end of the bar but is married. Accents mix and mingle, can't find their way home even when trying. You tried to keep it together but failed, bricks fall apart at the corner of fail and failure, how close your home. The phone rings halfway up the hill, you melt in its soft voice comfort, let it carry you home.

The blood courses drunkenly through your veins. It is black now, but you know the light has returned. You know it will wake you tomorrow.

How all will be better, in the morning.