the better part of days and weeks are imagined corpuscles of knowledge buried deep within the skin like ants breeding buffalo and other magnificent expositions of extinction. this event like no other hand scratching at the wrist of this progression into her night and her many many accoutrement of self denial and men lingering for one spittle more. he says to me in the bar, why don’t we ever talk like this, we don’t we ever talk like friends? i find myself smashed into telephone conversations that i barely make out what she says to me while staring straight into the headlights of oncoming traffic. laughter rumbles through my rib cage and i gleefully spit out my teeth.