Have you been thinking? she hissed as I stumbled into her apartment
at two in the morning, reeking of metaphysical unease. All night, I told her,
a fine spirit, aged twenty-five years in the oak barrel of my mind. Lets me
feel grown-up, I told her, makes me look older than I am, to drink deep from
this dark spirit, to choose to have it on the rocks.
Something too-easily dashed off this morning. Am unhappy with my writing but at least I’m writing.