句尺ヨ丹冊己 by Girl Animusica

CHAPTER NINETEEN

the sky - what i can see of it - is a gaussian map of diffused neon. it's either very late or very early. my phone died at some point between 2 and 3 hours ago, i believe - none of these places have clocks on the walls. i'm continuing to rationalize staying awake to myself with increasingly feeble excuses despite my imaginary opponent having checked out of the debate a long time ago. i spin a cigarette between my fingers for a couple minutes before giving in and lighting it. i breathe in, exhibiting a weariness i hope appears reflective rather than merely pathetic, and exhale through my nose. i inhale again and abruptly begin coughing, loud, hacking painful. not until I started smoking did i really feel like i understood the phrase 'coughing up a lung'. i can't stop. coughing, i mean. throught the mist and the water in my eyes i can see passersby stealing uncomfortable glances at me hacking and rasping and i'm having trouble getting air in between coughs and i'm doubled over and my throat tastes like rust and it goes on just long enough that i'm half expecting for my life to flash before my eyes but it doesn't. i pick myself back up and walk a half block away. it's probably going to rain again. i can feel a thobbing pulse from the sidewalk. people are entering and exiting magnificent flashing thresholds and there are faint friendly dinging noises from countless machines and everyone is exhibiting one stage of drunkenness or another. i'd really ought to get back to the hotel but i'm afraid i'll probably pass out before i make it there. it occurs to me that perhaps i could crash at your place but my phone died hours ago and i don't think it would be a good idea to show up uninvited again after last time. there's broken glass all over the ground and a lot of these people can barely stay upright; a bad combination. my mind wanders to a few days ago and i can see the little diamond pattern on the red wallpaper clearer than anything else. they don't really need streetlamps here. i already can remember very little from the conversation and this worries me. the misty air makes stone walls feel soft to the touch. i have one eye open. it's probably going to rain again. the atmosphere seethes with electricity. i can't imagine seeing that wallpaper anywhere else. it begins to haunt me that that's all i can remember. or taunt? it feels both pitch dark and disturbingly bright out here. everything is flashing and everything is dinging. there is a hum in the sidewalk.
but it was a nice chat.
and it was a nice breakfast/lunch/dinner.

It was easy to spot her. All you needed to do was look at her socks. They were never a matching pair. One would be green while the other would be blue. One would reach her knee while the other barely touched her ankle. Every other part of her was perfect, but never the socks. They were her micro act of rebellion.

Girl Animusica