What Kind of Breeze Do You Blow?

Tonight, I danced in the street, the pavement wet with new rain and clicking delightfully under my heavy soles. I spun and the world became a blur, familiar and somehow very distant though it was all around me. I'm dizzy now, the dull ache in my head creating an annoying reminder of last nights' drinking habits. I think about how I haven't smoked all day, save for one painful cigarette before I left his place; the first of the day, the one that is torturous after a night of heavy drinking and chain smoking, but an unfortunate five minutes of discomfort in order to get on with the rest of them.

I am sluggish and cold, puffing on my Marlboro. I'm not even paying attention to where I ash, as I found out later that my arm got the most of it. I am deep in thought, headphones cranked high, feet tapping and body swaying slightly to the beat all while I wait for the bus. Fuck Portland, sometimes it's too cold and it stinks in it's cleanliness. I smell the slow decomposition of lost souls becoming comfortable in their routines and slowly dieing blind, without ambition or desire for anything more in their lives than painlessness and mundane convenience. Those types of thoughts are crushing and depressing for me so I choose not to dwell and instead focus on the blurry headlights meandering in the distance or an occasional animal that scurries across the street.

Before I know it, as I am lost in my own mind, the bus arrives and I board. It's a bit steamy inside, not quite full, and it's nearly silent. I watch a man with three large shopping bags piled around him begin to nod off to sleep as soon as the bus begins to roll again. Sitting there, watching him, I feel an intense wave of fatigue sink into me and I am suddenly saturated in it's muck and mire. Oh goddamn it, I think to myself, this is gonna be a long journey home.

In all actuality, it wasn't. My mind made it so much longer because there is so much to think about these days. I am fucked up, really fucked up, and the more I admit this to myself the easier I'm finding it to release these feelings. One day I'm gonna cry about it, I keep repeating this sarcastically to my cat or the plate of food in front of me or in the mirror before I go to a clients house. One day I'm gonna cry so hard I can't breathe and I will melt into the floor and cease to exist.