I can remember waking up hungover, smelling like cigarettes and brown liquor the morning after Brian's funeral, and shit just wouldn't click inside of me, so I kick-started the day and the buzz back on. A love lost, a friendship gone, and an eternity of questions that would never be answered. None of us wanted to admit to such shit so we stayed bent, and pulled a bender that for some of us even thirteen years later hasn't come to cease yet. Alcoholics are made from such moments, and crackheads are spawn from such lost feelings. Alleys and street curbs are littered with forty ounce beer bottles of dreams that were never dreamt, and from the hearts that never mended correctly. Broken glass in the streets that we walk thru resembles the anger of drunken pain. Damaged property and vehicles, fires burning aimlessly, and the struggle amongst police and pedestrians before the clamps come down are all deterrents from the real underlying issues. Once it's born inside of us, it lives inside of us, waking upon anniversaries, song's lyrical cues, and in a stranger's passing for no apparent reason. It's times like these, days like this that I cherish for still being able to walk amongst the living, smell the nauseating stench of the hot asphalt baking in the sun, and hear the wind pass violently thru the trees above. It's also times like these, days like this that I'm reminded of how much we've lost, how much more can be taken on any whim, and it's humbling to say the least.
Photo courtesy of Damian Gerlach