It's so scary I'm always weary of new faces and I leave traces of salt in my wake
I'm strolling, drunk as a punk, past a house. Bright yellow eyes. The thin transparent membrane lets me see.
Your son's in the other room lit by tv. You're in the kitchen mixing drinks, I think and, in lieu of familial hug, you give him some spirit.
I've been out and about i've had my fill of wind-milling people and slow-swilling chat. Semantically a worthless night but I must be fuller cause i need to pee. And that's that.
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