There were stop signs that we sped through; red lights that we sped through and seatbelts that carressed our flesh until our veins bulged through our sleeves. I could feel my heart racing as if we were being chased, but we were trying to flee far away from the bondages of sitting still. Though still we sat, we drove with purpose and dare i say meaning.
The Trap Door was the bar we'd wash out in. It stood on a sidewalk where all the other stores were long closed. The Slow Modes ran shoot suites and sex stays there. We walked past as our knees, our hands even time dragged and my wrist watch slowed. By now, of course my watch was worn down from the Which Watch I had pawned for rent and more absinthe.
Monday, December 27, 2010
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