At the Cock last night, I smoked so much weed with Allen, and really that was my night, being gleefully stoned and dancing around to eighties music. I remember dirty dancing with Adrian (my kind of crush) to a rock song, and I was sort of aware that that was not how one danced to pounding, alt-rock songs, but not caring because we kept grinding our crotches into one another, and I felt his back under his shirt, and liked the feeling. There was a strobe going that contributed to this erotic haze also. See also: chronic.

Waiting about twenty minutes for the subway to come while I was stoned out of my mind was not so fun. I was acutely aware of sound, the lack of it, how there were all these groups of people on the platform, but none talking. I kept on hearing a metallic whir whir, and had no idea where it was coming from, or what, it could even possibly be. I watched the rats on the other platform scatter back and forth and dive in and out of little holes in the wall. They never looked more cute.

When I got off the subway, I picked up a carton of milk, a chocolate chip muffin, and a candy bar. I ate them walking home, washing down each yummy bite with a yummy gulp of milk.