Was it because he took another Xanax, or that third vodka and soda poured heavy into my rocks glass after work before all this? I’m not drunk, but I can’t tell. Not drunk yet, I can tell. Now we’re stuck playing Pokemon Go in a gondola at the apex of the St. Louis Wheel.
“Babe, any good raids going on?” His voice comes out Benzo flat through his mask, and I boil at that pet name when he sounds like this. Not all the time. Not when we’re being gross and tossing it back and forth in some game, playing babe-badminton.
“We’re sitting right next to each other, trapped at the top of a Ferris wheel, we see the same fucking things,” close my eyes hard enough to see pinwheels before opening them again. He sniffs. It’s an icebox. The ride is supposed to pause for a bit at the top so you can enjoy the scenic view from a carnival ride no one wanted in the city, me ex…
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