Battery out of charge

It’s a riotous Saturday morning in my head. Pieces of the night come back like LSD flashbacks, superimposed on the coffee, the eggs, the cinnamon toast. Sally’d been in rare form; putting on her Essex accent and fooling everyone. Lauren showed up in a low cut orange dress and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her tits. We drank beer. Like a battery out of charge the city took its life from us. From us and from the million other living souls who went skipping and searching through the cadmium curving avenues. Moving inward as if by the path of a galactic arm we came to Union Jackson, where Sally declared that our server was her husband in a past life. I tried to keep my hands off June and tried not to be an asshole. Mostly I felt calm in the gibbous moonlight.

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