Suds

Down the stairs and you're in a Lower East Side club, who knew, the stage is really just the end of a couch, the ceiling plastered with old concert posters, the beer is cheap and there's a big bucket of popcorn on the bar, it's perfect. I was already drunk, I'm always drunk in his company, I gathered my baubles and walked home before it was even dark, it was wise.

But my heavy lids had not rested for a mere minute before the eyes behind sprang to life, giggled of stories and May, and before long, pink strands of dawn were sneaking their way in through the blinds. I lay laughing in my bed, watching the sunlight grow, cover every corner. I could not sleep, I did not want to. It was enough just to lay there and be alive.

Today, we waded through her grandmother's apartment, the remains of 88 years and the pictures to tell who they were. Not one picture shows her working. Grandma was all about indulgence. We drank port wine in her honor. I walked home later with a bag full of her old food, enough berries to keep me with jam until winter. The skies were still blue despite the late hour. Life ends disgracefully. We better enjoy our youth while we can, I whispered to the season, but it was too young, still, to understand a word I said.