by | Jun 24, 2023 | Writing the Weather

The rhythm guitarist is sweating in an impressive way. I’ve known that kid since he was a babe. He always had the attitude of a champ, loved his spirit from the get go. His mom is in the crowd, and it reminds me of her first date with the boy’s dad, my best friend since I was three, where she walked in on me face down over a mirror full of beautiful lines of cocaine. It was my duplex, not hers. She was only on the other side, my side for the night, because I had broken the toilet on her date’s side, my original side. The water was off. If you pay attention, the world has always been ending in various ways. I have always found ways to continue the party. It’s my special end of days skill. It’s not quite the show must go on. I don’t give a shit about the audience. I don’t even give that much of a shit about myself, there’s just this inertia that is part me and part my stalker. I’ve never had the gumption to call the authorities. Chase me relentlessly. I don’t care. The storm is always over my shoulder. Sometimes it’s fun to look at it. Sometimes it’s not. Somehow, the end of the world has let me age. Somehow I never have to really pay. Not in full. Damn, that kid is sweating a lot. Holy cow. There are girls around me and I like their eyes and I like their legs and I like the way they wonder what the hell I am. I get it. It’s a good question. I’m a time traveler. I’ve been here before. I’ve seen the end of the world so many times and I’ve seen the loop and I’ve seen that kid grow up. I’ve seen his parents break apart, that’s what we all do, really. Still, I’ve seen us all somehow survive, somehow grow, somehow end up the rhythm guitarist banging his head, spraying the crowd with the sweat of all our somehows.

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