Great party, so naturally they drank to forget it. Shots after midnight brought on a preview of Alzheimers. Counterintuitive, he thought. Nothing on Earth made less sense than human behavior. Want one thing, then run the fuck away from it.
Already Sunday afternoon. He was on the train. Dehydrated. He imagined he looked like mummy. Three hours of memory missing, excised Spotless Mind style. Both he and the girl had been so drunk that, according to modern statutes, they’d technically raped each other. Call it a draw. Phone was dead so he couldn’t endlessly scour his chats. Which was good. Nothing in there but nostalgia or regret. The eternal would-you-rather. Better if you didn’t look back at the record and just let some time pass instead. Man’s fading memory is a feature, not a bug.
Jesus Christ, no phone. Now what. Now he had to just let his thoughts unspool. He realized that right now he was back in the day. He saw himself in a chair with wrinkles and probably some checkered socks, smiling back on the past with a cultish twinkle in his eye.
It’ll be good someday, I guess, he told himself. Don’t worry about what happens to you, or what you do. Your eyes and brain will edit everything. The truth might be out there, but don’t worry about it. You’ll never have to deal with it.
This ran today over on the Crusade.