a few words when I turn 23.

St. Charles, IL 2006. Auburndale gas station, 2004. Pirate parties--god, I hate that stuff, but I did it in a Santa hat. Alcohol used to be the Holy Grail. DC on constant repeat. Is there a punchline to this? Rivulets of Sprite through a cracked plastic cup on New Year's Eve. I wasn't even there for that--Poetic Fucking License. I've shouted so many songs to my car stereo these last years even in the old Accord. I'm not used to having an entire life, just half of one, or 3/4. 23 is nothing.