We’re cutting across the neighborhood taking turns swigging champagne from a brown paper bag, the ultimate expression in trash and class. Just a pair of friends walking and talking. At first porch lights and the occasional set of headlights illuminate our way until we emerge from the neighborhood onto a busier road and the street lights rain burnt orange down onto us. We walk up to our friends sitting out on their stoop and there’s much rejoicing and hugging as if it’s been months instead of days since we were all last together. We ascend the stairs into their apartment and they give us blood orange soda to pour into mason jars with the remainder of our champagne. We talk art. We talk each other. We pet their cat that lolls over onto her belly reveling in the love. The heat pushes us back down the stairs back out onto the stoop. We exchange several rounds of “come with us” and “not tonight” and finally farewell hugs all given and empty mason jars all returned we continue down the sidewalk into the night.
I’ll pay for this night in the morning with two TUMS and two Advil, but you’re only young once. Exactly once.