August 24, 2021:
Why? Why those two?
At a moment when everyone was seemingly available.
It was the drugs, the hurt, the feeling of company-in-exile.
The sense of shared disaster.
The knowledge that none of us were where or what or who we wanted to be.
So I fucked them both. Usually separately, sometimes together. Our triad of pain and loss and remorse. Fed by burns and cuts, the snaking gray smoke of I-am-not-here.