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Crashin'
Willy laid down on his twin sized bed, with the sheets that were either sky or ocean, and clumsily opened his window. The Shins weren’t right for this, but he didn’t want to have to get up and change the song. His room was dense with heat and thought, and the open window spewed in cold and sparseness. The inside was lofty inter-connected thoughts of oneness, and outside was visceral physical individuality. And they crashed into Willy, on his bed near the open window, his sheets of sky and sea.
Willy replayed the day in his head, but he knew parts were missing, and it was out of order. He remembered he drew in his sketchbook, and he knew he drank a lot. He finished The Motel Life, but he didn’t remember the last words, or the last chapter really. He thought he might have driven to the corner store at one point, but that might have been yesterday, or last week.
He remembered very well seeing Ashley at some point on the street. She smiled and he tried to hide the gin on his breath. (“Normal people don’t like the smell of gin at 2 in the afternoon.”).
“Hey, Willy. What’s up? How are you?”
“Ah, not too shabby. A little tired. But, ya know, it’s the future. Everyone’s tired.”
“Right. So where ya headed? I’m just goin over to Joe’s for a bit. Smoke some hookah maybe go to the park. Wanna come?”
“Joe’s huh? Well I, uh… Me and… Well, Joe and I aren’t really friends anymore. He didn’t tell you?”
“What? No way… What happened?”
“A lot happened. Just different types of people ya know? Anyway, that’s just sort of how it goes, right?”
“Oh man. You and Joe were such good friends. That’s so crazy… Well you and I should at least hang out sometime. Catch up, ya know… Man, Willy, I’m sorry. You ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just headed home.”
“Where from?”
“Record store. Getting an old Avett Brothers CD I’d lost.”
“Ah, rad. I always love old CD’s.”
“Yep…”
“Well give me a call man. You’re always fun to chill with. See ya around.”
Willy had spent the past few nights this way. Haphazardly reviewing the day he’d just lived. Or better yet, “lived.” That’s how the word always looked to him. With quotes. What he was doing was not the Webster’s Dictionary definition of living. It was… Well Willy didn’t really know what it was.
His thoughts undulated before him rhythmically until the dizziness tumbled over itself like a wave on the shore, and he was out.
Willy dreamed. He won’t be totally sure he did, but let me tell you, he did. He dreamed like a champ.
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