A haze of dreams, hotell corridors are my idea of hell, the ninth stage. Treachery and Demerol should not mix.
When I walked the seventh floors hallway for the hundred time I started screaming. Open mouth, with an unfamiliar strength. No one ever hear me. I decide to leave, and put shoes on my bare feet. Manolos for broken ankles, vintage dress for my bruised skin.
Out in the snowstorm everyones screaming. I ask a girl who's sitting by herself in the bar close to the end of the world if she wants some company. When she doesn't reply I sit down. We drink slowly, in some sort of understanding. She smiles, I leave.
I meet up an old friend and we throw each other back five years to when we used to dance, smile and dream. For a couple of hours I forget about the cold and my fever. I enter a state of mind where nothing matters, where I'm the closest to happy Ive been in a long time. I guess that happens in a city close to the north pole when you're on your back on a bardisk where they mix beer and call it a drink. When you feel closer to the cobble stone than the sky.