I think of blacking out as the little gifts friends can give me This way the conversation is never old, at least for me. Stories come from different New perspectives to balance the darkness of my own recall. My friends appreciate the level of trust I give them. I mean, what other friend let’s you dictate the past to him? Doesn’t question, to much has debates with the floor while trying desperately to keep standing on a wall. (A feat that sounds almost impossible. But the situation was such that, in my imbalance, and the general disruption of the room the wall was much more comfortable to stand on). Means to call friends but call his grandma to talk about movies and discovers the new movie hits in Hawaii. At 4 am is still trying to convince you that there are no such things as ghosts so please just hand over the gun. Steals volleyballs from sorority girls Steals “Shoe” gin from fraternity guys because the party might have ended, (but my party just started.) Climbed up metal mountains of rust no one else could find in the woods Drove the car like a ghost down the highway to a beautiful stream in another state. Tried to fight a hot dog vendor over 3 dollars for 2 hot dogs. Siphoned the gasoline out of his own car to “get the party started.” (To bad I siphoned to the ground and not the can.) Wrote the future on cocktail napkins at the bar and handed them out for drinks. Swore they were right and to prove it, said his fortune was to sell the future. This is my past according to others These are all glorified because I can’t face the truth. I guess that’s why I’ll drink some more Because really it isn’t the memories I want Just the darkness. The day I told a girl ‘Nothing turns me on more then a girl punching me in the face.’ And getting cracked again. That I remember because of the bruises.