five thousand ones

part of me wants to go to sleep right here on the concrete. part of me wants to drive clumsily the four miles back to houlihan's and ask that waitress out and possibly punch that smug bartender in the face.

part of me wants to go to sleep inside, shades drawn, for months. i'd wake up in fall and it would be a new season and everything would be different. leaves would be falling, the world would be going to sleep earlier.

part of me wants to go inside and chug from the handle until everything is spinning. then i'll jump in the car. i love the smell of a hot car interior as you jump quickly in and roll the windows down as fast as possible. the cloth has been baking and the steering wheel is painful to the touch, in a good way. the car chimes on and i go driving the freeways for hours as fast as i can, radio blaring.

part of me wants to do like shane and i did that summer in augusta, getting fried and tempting red lights until we eventually get t-boned by some friendly and hard-working immigrant family in a minivan. fuck, people like us belong in prison.

a cloud floats over the subdivision. i feel pretty clean. i wish it would rain. it's strange, i tell myself; you wait for winter to melt away and relish the first warm day. then it gets warm for three days and you're back to your old boredom, those old feelings sink back in like jeans broke in after a wash.

some kids drive by blasting gangster rap. i sigh the loudest in the whole city.