some do some don't

Aft of midday, no sign of Sandman. Pumping pedals and autumn's tangy air bid him retreat; a handful of hours and dint of will carries him finally across the threshold. (Unruly stomach, cottoned head and boneless limbs protested the ushering) Fizzy kombucha fends off the ague and soon constitution flung away last night from the bottom of a bottle begins to boomerang back.

It's easy to think you'll never do something that stupid again when you're in the midst of paying the price for it. Just wait. The true test quickens on the lee side of the scourge.

Sitting in the five-dollar chair that refuses to adjust you wish you had the courage to just fuck and be happy.