Forayem

You are sitting on the steps in front of a tower of dormitories you've never seen before. It's cold, but not cold, the mercury settling at that temperate chill, not yet warranting a winter coat, but enough to rattle your bones. Your breath hangs in the air - or is that smoke?- as you inhale desperately on the butt of a cigar past its prime, gasping for dear tobacco, dear life. Half drunk and about to get stoned, your pockets empty but for the room keys on that hipster carabiner ring and the emergency condom in your wallet, you sit on those steps, waiting for your friend, waiting forever, waiting for warmth, waiting for death, waiting for something.

But suddenly, you realize, this might be the best night of your life. So now you ponder that, really allowing the significance of such an idea to steep, brew, simmer.

And then you begin to sob. There's nothing left for you to do, but sob.