good

drunk bibble babble for two: insomnia on the ghostly point + sullen drunk solitary creeper. one long late conversation leaps up. i grab it and its wonderfully familiar, snickers and grim confessions, love letters and forgiveness, and my entire existence congeals and firms up for at least an hour setting off sparklers in the hands of the ghosts of two eight year olds somewhere in a dark field out in the world, neon green firebugs snapping their wings all around.