I'm not really drunk, but sitting in a bar considering life, a Sam Adams in my left, dominant hand. A pleasant warmth fills me, though I yet feel a gap in my heart. The local band playing the stage is loud, too loud. It drowns out my friends and brings me memories of a time not so long ago.
I miss you, my friends. Boston was something else, and I've never felt the like before. Of coming into a room of complete strangers yet being completely welcome. It is the stuff poets masturbate to.
Yet when I am lonely, I can always come here. I love you all, even Forostar.
Thank you.
I miss you, my friends. Boston was something else, and I've never felt the like before. Of coming into a room of complete strangers yet being completely welcome. It is the stuff poets masturbate to.
Yet when I am lonely, I can always come here. I love you all, even Forostar.
Thank you.