I didn’t drink rum.
I did have a glass of Jack
with Erik, although responsibly.

I should have introduced him at the bar.
I was struck by their beauty and the comfortable
dusty smell of wood.
God, girls kill me.
I’m obsessed with what I can’t understand,
damned to too,
however,
it’s more like being damned to a menial job in heaven.
At least I’m there.

Here, I mean.