Feet In The Feathers

Shirt off. Yellow Onitsukas and size zero jeans. Smirnoff red in one hand, fingers of a boy in another. Fuck-all attitude, dancing to Toca's Miracle under green lasers and blue spotlights. No thoughts, no unhappiness, no fucking worries.

And for once my chest was the only thing that hurt.

More alcohol. No pills so alcohol will suffice. Sleazy guy I've seen before, coming onto me again. I say fuck off with a flick of my fingers. How long will I have this youthful 'empowerment'?

Face in the sink. Water tastes of a century of grime. On the floor, tissues and cum stains (?), eww. I'm with a few boys now. Glad to know you too.

Wrestle my demons. Coming down is never easy, even if you've got three others to hold you. I think I need to play my game better. Too much to drink now. Plasma TV showing Sunshine - end scene where he gets blown up as the spacecraft plunges into the sun's atmosphere. Nice.

~

TAXI!!

None found. Those that zoom past us pick people who look straighter than me and Mxtt. "But your house is in the fucking wrong direction" I hear myself say. He's into a cab and back down Church St. while I mull over the direction of Dynon Rd from here.

Whopper makes its way out from my mouth into the gutter. Tram arrives. I hop in and pass out under the tram's fluorescent lights.