work was a hell ride, no, a *demon* hell ride. i get home, it's already dark. i need to unwind bad. i shut off my ac, open my front door, no lights but a small candle and a some streetlights outside, this has become my new hobby as of late. a bottle of grenache, a cigar, my now well-worn copy off secret name lulls in the background, quietly hissing and popping like all good vinyl should. it occurs to me that without question that this is the best album ever. it's 10pm but still 95 degrees out, but i don't mind, i enjoy the heat, the way it makes me feel, sweaty, sticky, alive. i'm starting to get numb in the way you only can from good wine and good cigars. my cute punk rock girl neighbor gets home. i watch her from my shadowy doorway. i tell myself i'm happy alone.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.