Everyone’s damp skin snaps back and retains its near perfect seamlessness while we nudge bump and grind at the same time. One sticky palm bracing the spongy wood for balance while the other snags one of the many now abandoned free-standing half empty red cups. The octagon soft rims intensify the highlights that blur out the details of the person centimeters away from one’s own face. Everyone looks the same when they’re that close.
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Large opportunistic eyes confirm that what can’t be seen should be assumed. A supposition made that too easily convinces the other that the sense of likeness to themselves is something special.
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The forward request is quickly followed by a mild decline that leads to the inevitably irrational kiss.
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Through the warmth of the yellow and into the glistening shadowed morning I stumble. Slick worn down rubber catches in the cracks of the pavement on the way home.
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