eos

reading chronic disappointment's take on fallout the other night reminded me of the feeling i had that night as i rode home in the back of a rented convertible, like so many burned out party boys desperate for something more. i can't say whether it was all the amstel light and shitty tequila, the memory of the fleeting beats, or something a bit deeper, but everything seemed to wash away in the wind as i took in the city from almost exactly the perspective of the photo above.

i'm tempted to write that i was able to forget about the the bruises, but the truth is i didn't forget at all. it's more fair to say that i was able to ignore them, or maybe just accept them, during that short ride home. and i think maybe that's the magic of nights like that. you know what's coming, but you're able to find some peace with it. it's not really a good feeling, but in a way, it's therapeutic. did i feel any better when i got home? it's hard to say. i certainly didn't feel any better the next day. in the moment, i guess i was just glad that i didn't feel worse.