I know nothing in these moments, festooned in tendrils of doubt, nagged by echoes of an angry guardian.
Look at me, look at you, bobbing in the blank wild white, vertical dismay. Two in the morning and my heart's gone cold, squandered by a jigger of gin. No technique can save me from it now.
In seconds, I will hunker down in the cover of obscurity, calling upon memories akin to lust. The pink vertical opens wide, lapping at remnants of my fear.
By God, the life must wait.