Buddy, you're getting pretty drunk. You look like you're at sea, a bit. Like, the sea on valium. You're eyes are like clotheslines, you could hang a sweater from that stare. You talk like you're already throwing up, like you're afraid the words might slip back down your throat. You're checking your pockets for your consonants. You're holding a speaker up to one ear like a pillow or an important call. You're dismissing everyone for offenses they haven't committed, you're flitting your wrist in such a way I can't tell if you think we're snobs or whether you're being a snob. I think even your clothes want to get away from you, and by the looks of things, you're starting to think you'll help them. You're poking the fire, you're whacking a tree with a stick, you're yelling like you just invented yelling. You're talking about swimming and everyone is just trying to be quiet to see if you can still be affected by your surroundings. You're on the diving board, and you're looking at the water, and now you're hovering above the water. The lights of the pool are blue, they're lighting your face from below, as you're hovering there in mid-air, and..oh. You're a demon. Okay, you're a demon. My bad. It's all good. Good times. {posted by Dan}