Julia

pink moon..by nick drake on the juke box at the bar called, the communists daughter. I run my hand on his back, lay it still like a floating minnow at the base of his spine. Next track is elliot smith's, 2:45 in the morning, and we say the next song we choose won't be by someone who's killed themselves. Whatever this feeling is right now, its not lasting, its electric and moving so fast I'm suprised I can see it. Just electrons moving around, thats all. It can be explained in simple terms. It takes us to a kiss in an alley, a bank machine embrace, another pint, another late taxi, another loonie for three songs. He says i was nervous to meet you, I changed my shirt 3 times. one night of magic rush, the start of simple touch i wish insomnia made me productive.