The cut on the side of my thumb reminds me that the events of one week ago did indeed happen. Slipping off the roof of your car and onto the rocky shores of the Schuylkill River served as a not-s0-permanent testament of the time we spent together. I was never able to find my way into that same position I was in, with my inner shoulder under your head, and your arm wrapped around my chest. With a bit of space between us, we faded into sleep.

I’m still not sure what it was that night, but it vanished with the stars. The morning sun brought nothing but a backache and a jacket from your trunk. You dropped me off at my apartment, asking what I was planning on doing the rest of the day. With a shrug of my shoulders I said goodbye and got out of your car. I watched as you drove off, falling into a sea of horns and cars.

When I got to my apartment, it was 10:39 AM. By noon I was half wasted on cheap whiskey and cheaper cola. By 1:30 PM, you were a whisper in a glass.