on the far end of the corridor i could make out the faces and hear the voices and the laughters and the party was still going on without me and i didn't really mind it at all
sitting at the kitchen table on my own opening up the old Last Night of the Earth poems i wonder about where you are what you are doing and whether or not you're having a good time
the clock strikes midnight and i hear the clear sound of glass clinking and i get that this free time of mine is now like most good things: coming to an abrupt end.
