and tipping my glass to the evening fog.
and i remember that the fog didn't acknowledge me at all.
in fact, it swept over me like warm, dry laundry
and just kept on hovering around
like a punk ass kid...
in a 7-11 parking lot...
begging for cigarettes.
i remember thinking about
my chipped tooth,
which in turn made me
think about wounds and injuries,
the crusty grit of an old scab,
and all the times you sliced me
with the ribbon in your hair.
and i vaguely remember bursting into laughter
at all the seconds i'd spent
doing "important" things.
and that's when
the bottle flew from my hand.
and i saw
an old, faded fence,
and a thousand bits of glass bouncing off
the asphault like quartz teeth.
and then everything became dim.
and i fell asleep forever
right then and there,
reading the label on my shattered bottle
over and over and over again,
until i could no longer see.