I ran on the streets past the house parties and the buzzing convenient store and all the drunk kids on porches. There was still a layer of you on my lips that wouldn't come off no matter how many times I wiped them on the back of my hand. I wouldn't recognize you without the glare of a bathroom light behind your head or pot smoke consuming the space between us. Damn. I lost track of the hours. This is real life. This is the $3 entrance fee and the girls get in free.
