Comfort

The summers are heavy around here
like a completely drenched towel wrapped
around your neck, but with none of the
prospective benefits. They peel the
posters off their identical white walls, and
throw all their stuff in the crappy cars they
all borrowed from their parents to drive
home to take orders for three months.
This is all after recharging their sunlight
reserves by laying in the grass between
buildings for several weeks before their
departure. Some will stay though, and in
doing so become even more ingrained
in their new role as an individual person.
This temporary place will seem permanent
to them and the anxiety of it never ending
will scare them into bars on more nights then
they can handle. There is a comfort in leaning
against the solid counter and closing your eyes
to watch the darkness move and pulse in time
with the poison in your blood, but it’s a game
that can kill you if you play too often.
There’s usually a beautiful girl sitting there too
and after talking for a while she reveals that she likes
these types of games, she thinks they’re fun, and so you buy
each other another drink and take turns describing the
particular way things start to fall apart all around you.

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