It’s not for a friend. It’s for my band.
If you are not familiar with our band, fake it.
This Friday evening returned the new page. When you speak in metaphors sometimes you really mean it. You meta-for-real speak to me as though there’s figuratively no one home. And I literally tell you there is no anyone home because I’m out with you. And then I black out the resulting insult that is thrusted and blindly explodes like a fireworks it off like a drunk donkey – meanwhile time runs out as my recovery is almost certain, that leans towards the edge of reason to expect a humanistic response.
You broke through the chain fence into the playground; how would I expect you and I to have less than a good time – but you are finally catching on, and I’m trying to comprehend what the story looks like from another point of view.
Step confidently as you walk off that curb.