Luciferase/lunacy/luck
When it’s the night after a hurricane and you are giddy with the absence of damage, the sense of having gotten away with something even though your experiments are all abandoned and falling apart somewhere across the East River, and you’re on your third maybe fourth Sazerac because the one thing you actually did today besides working on your NYT crossword game was make fucking simple syrup and you’re concerned about your friends without power, with children, the people in Breezy Point, by god. But you find yourself out on your fire escape having a cigarette, dancing the awkward swingstep of cold feet on iron bars to Sleigh Bells Demons of all things and wearing nothing but a tank top underwear and a faux leopard coat, and you think: holy shit am I an asshole?; am I a grown-up?; am I lucky to be alive?
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goldenmesh likes this
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leitha likes this
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splendidbauble said:
glad to hear you’re ok
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splendidbauble likes this
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mollyculetheory posted this
