TGIF

Because there are days I do not want to think of her. I set out to explore the nightlife of our ever- populating city. The Lyft driver, a Russian playing country music with road rage expressing how he urges to break some kneecaps. We pick up a chick that smells of kimchi and watermelon, packing a tiny dog perfect size for a sandwich. I’m eating Skittles in the backseat, meanwhile craving a whiskey neat. Destination close, I text on the thread. I’m given warning most are drunk and in need of food. A corner mart will do. Cake and spicy chips to go. Texas Smooth is distributing Purple Punch via blunt. Papa bears preying on cubs. I sit unsettled and smoke a clove.