what was your name again?

i can't feel my fingers and i can't feel my mouth and i've had enough maker's mark and jim beam to start a community of prison cell drunkards.

there was a guy who looked like her older brother who i debated with loudly over copyright infringement for a good hour or so it seemed, and so he bought me another drink.

there was a guy who reminded me of him, with the high cheekbones and sour glare. he stood next to me and explorer said that he really was waiting for me to hit on him. i probably should have, but i was too afraid that the first words out of my mouth will always be "you're not as good as him." i could hear boy laughing at me and saying, "i'm better looking than him." everyone knowing it's true. so i stared at him and his high cheekbones and his appreciation of the band that none of us had heard of, and he stared back at me with not so much as a glimmer of a smile. he just stared, twisting occasionally to catch my tattoos, but mainly just staring into the space behind me.

so let's all get drunk and drunker and call our best friends at two in the morning to tell them we love them. let's all smell like smoke when we just want a cigarette and let's all remember when the music played just for us. let's kick jugs across parking lots and get stares from cops. let's all embarass ourselve in front of friends of friends and sit in the middle of the street with traffic coming on.

america, it's that type of night, and i'm ready to sleep. i've got some dreams to make and work in the morning when all i really want to do is have another drink.