It was a long night full of salt-rimmed glasses and half-priced appetizers. But when I arrived home at one a.m. I still had enough vigor to walk right back out again. Vigor turned into bravado. Bravado turned into text messaging. And text messaging turned into an even longer night of brash folly…
I cautiously crept down the street, counting lampposts and praying that no one would see me; at the very least, that no one would recognize me. I was dodging more than just rabbits as I tip-toed through the suburban grass.
Ours is a neighborhood that never sleeps... there's always one eye watching, if not, two ears listening for the sound of secrets being whispered in the shadows. Lucky for me, sneaky argyle barely makes a sound and shadow's cast by campfire muffle even the loudest of whispers.
As he spoke and drank, I listened and realized the irony of this meeting: somehow I knew his motive for inviting me better than I knew my motive for attending. And I wasn't quite sure which was worse.
Nevertheless, the wind was very strong. It rustled the leaves on the trees. It scattered the embers from the fire. It whisked me up a flight of stairs and into his brother's bedroom.
We layed and laughed at the dragon posters lit up by black lights.
It was a rather sorry waste of time. A battle of wits. His wit wanting to ruin me and my wit wanting to change him. An awefully sorry waste of time...
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