inconsequential

there's a burning throat. we never smoked together. not as much as we do separately, now. we drank jack and then chased it with coke at the top of some mulholland vantage point and the glimmering lights of the valley were turned down dull enough to accurately portray such disappointments. we were talking about something vaguely sentimental or singing about something else top 40. maybe considering dancing on the side of the road. i'm sorry you felt bad that night. it was so long ago, mixed in before such drastic events and after our greatest victories over one another. in our darkest hours we have these small memories and they're entirely inconsequential until they're all we have left to prove that a prior reality did indeed occur, take place. i talked bullshit about space.