on the corner of california street I then heard: « me too. »
i’m still not sure if that part was real. everything was a bit fuzzy, you see, after that many drinks (and the steep walk sure took my breath). my mind had been foggier than the city for days, but i still hold a glimpse of that « me too » behind clouds of smoke of our cigarettes. i couldn’t believe it then, i’m not sure if i believe it now, but the image… that remains.
i took a drag and thought very clearly: « fuck, i’m so happy. i’m sure eventually i’ll convince myself that this memory is pure nostalgia but, no, this is it. »
now, the doubt prevails: maybe it never happened.
maybe i was never that happy. maybe there was never love behind the smoke on the corner of california street.
