Nevermind the Augts

With the tick of the clock it was off to the old party spot that we’d thought we’d sworn off; time to eat dinner and feel older. Sparkling sequined dresses were stitched on at the very last minute and with drinks in hand we called two cabs and were out before others poured the first glass.

Table long and candles lit, we set down food and found places to sit. Out the fire escape we pulled long drags on cigarettes, exchanged pleasantries, shook hands and traded kisses. Bottles pulled from purses were sipped casually, as was beer from bottles and cans: there were but a few glasses in sight.

The room ballooned as time clicked closer and was thick with leather jackets and lipstick by the time our fictive ball dropped. We pulled each other’s bodies closer, slobbered sloppy kisses, took extra swigs of Jack and whispered nothing sweet into deaf ears. But before the usual mess began I called on a car, found a couch, and awoke much further into two thousand and ten.