Whatever I Have Lost (Ch.5)

Chapter 5

In there. The beginning is a dry heave. I hate that shit and already did a little of that earlier today. I hate to repeat shit that’s not that tight; so all you ladies that think I like to break hearts it not that. I just don’t want to repeat shit that’s…I love you. Now I’m in there. It starts to flow like my freestyle—fluid but not quite what you want, at least at that particular time. I can say it. The hottest might annoy those who choose to stay cold. To each their own but to me life’s a poem. Approximately three separate occasions took place. Pink with chunks of white. I woke up with Taco Truck grinning like the girl you know shouldn’t have stayed the night. Actually she shouldn’t have been the night but if I can bring a smile to friends’ faces with a story its all glory. And so it goes for most the troop with tropes. Either way maybe consuming the food of Los Angeles, Mexico explains the dye of Valentine’s Day purged as my collegiate summation.

It burns. There has been quite the unusual gap between expulsions in my life, which is welcomed but does that mean I haven’t been on my job? Throw up brings the mind to three destinations. First, the countless nights back home in NY, using cabs as British women in my bed and throwing up on/in them. In them? I just pulled the two-for-one insight into my life. Nah, not in them. But Brooklyn go hard. And yeah I’ve thrown up on a girl one night and by the morning there was no evidence. So peculiar that she began to think it didn’t happen. I feel bad about that one. Second, a close friend during college would usually get too fucked up at our parties—most parties—then proceed to crucify biology (and physics as there is a reversal of space and time) for the next day. The sounds were wretched. Lastly, another friend’s girlfriend-at-the-time threw up in a bag and hyped up its weight in gold, beige, or off-white. She won a lot of respect that night. She was hilarious. Who really screams “Feel this shit!” as they sit sick on a couch, slightly hunched over but upright enough to let you know it’s all good. Paper or plastic? It was paper because we hit up Trader Joe’s for the upscale nutrition, downscaled price of wine, and breads that may or may not already be molding.

Not to have another aside or anything but… THIS couch is cut from a different cloth; a weathered cloth. The couch this girlfriend rejoiced on is the bouncer of the backyard. Imagine: the two couches mentioned thus far are in the living room. If hell can be raised indoors then the Devil lets his dog roam outside when it gets too big for the house. This couch has never seen better days. I have, both had sex and not had sex by this couch. Once was a multi-hour hump session; who has dry sex in the rain? The second time I actually fucked someone and that was just as traumatic. Not the sex, but what brought me there was my favorite player and 2006 MVP, Dirk Nowitzki, losing in the first round to Golden State. Most of my friends are either from the Bay Area or like to see my depressed. These circumstances led me to sex. The couches are what I say they are. And they second all of these notions.

As I knew when I would throw up, I already considered the irony but this expected foreshadow (i.e. super consciousness) does not coax the mind. While brushing teeth I foresaw my displeasure with cleaning a mouth simply to throw up in it. I didn’t stop brushing because you never know if that buzzer-beater 3-point shot is going to drop or not. I mean I know and so do many clutch players but we all have doubts. So, I’m finishing up the reflection of 4-years flushed down a toilet. My tongue surveys to taste the ghost town of freshness. One would put a quote to bring it home but fuck that, we all know what a thrown up mouth tastes like, throw up. I’m a Crest kid so I have a little bit of sparkle left, and with that I have decided not to re-brush my teeth. We got other remedies.