johnnyfive

the sun honey-coated the falling leaves of the trees and i sat in my car listening to 7 Seocnds' version of 99 Luft Balloons. rotting pumpkins were amok with wide, wrinkled grins. a girl puked and i giggled, watching her maintain dignity.
"we've all been there, honey", I tell her.
but she keeps throwing up. massive amounts of white lather and foul smelling foam.
I take her to the girl's room and leave her at the door with a wish of luck. she comes back more than ten minutes later and says, "damn, i didn't know i had to shit."
i took her arm and led he back to her friends. she's cool, i think. gross, but cool.
within seconds the lights are on and last call has been called. people that have been flirting with each other all night are awakening to seeing each other under flouescent lights, drunken. the bartender rushes the inebriated to their vehicles. the night is done...or is it. a booty call? a late night? or maybe a solemn evening of introspect and retrrospect over a waxing moon and a bottle of bourbon. the latter of which would explain any typos in this entry.