Drinking in double time but thinking in half time
Old habits die hard. That my friends is a fact, a swat away does nothing except delay the habit coming back to haunt you in your silent places and help you celebrate in your louder times.
As I fly to St Petersburg, Russia I watch the woman who’s elbow to elbow with me, head bob as she tries to sleep off the night before looking exactly like a slow motion bobblehead toy but add the breathe of your uncle the morning after new years eve. She’s visibly worn out looking to old for her age and at 6 in the morning is blowing fumes like it was the top of the night at the pub.
Saint Joseph maker of asprin and keeper of travellers, yes please.
Well, What’s your answer?
A beer. A whiskey drink. A text. Small talk. An idea. A text. A text.
Another beer. Another text. Another whiskey drink. A list. A daydream. A text. A swing and a miss. An answering message. Another beer.
A Snake in a turtleneck with his 3 best friends
It took a long list of people to shape the way I pulled myself together, like puzzle pieces strategically Put together to make a picture all my own.
Legs like the southside with eyes like laser lights
She told me the news, it was a numbers game that physically and Mathematically was almost impossible. The doctors always cautious called it improbable and
I called it maybe, she said possibly.
The best news is always the unexpected news.
Bruises are none of my business
The eyes are the tell but the flinch at the loud noises clinched my suspicions. I want to ask but stop myself from doing so. Despite it being crisp and clean smelling outside it smelled like fast food and fear inside this place.