speed

He asked me my drug of choice. His voice was waining--his body slowly gaining dire fragility. He looked too old for his age... as the shadows of the flames left their traces on his face of tremors and traumas.

I said LSD just to say something, anything.

If he had spoken to anyone else there would have been an eager attempt, on their part, to disappear from his line of fire.

AV Raver house party--kegger--bonfire, there we stood--I was rather sober, mostly. Eyes peeled on the darling lost children partaking in their weekend kicks. I was with friends in the lightest shaving of friendships refuge--with a girl with big, wide eyes that gawked at this hooded miscreant and slowly left me to do the talking.

He stood there with his face turned to mine, mumbling his minor subtleties. Veteran of some war or another. Likes speed. And then his grievance becomes but a whisper--indecipherable other than the lulling motif of having no idea how he ended up where we were, then. Did I care? Regardless--did he?

And I wished him well; and I walked away. He turned his face and continued on as before, staring within the flames in listless sojourn.