The Beginning To A Better Ending.

That's me, the quiet one popping her fingers in the corner.  At the moment I'm feeling acutely awkward.  I really don't know anyone in this room except for my "x" and his new girlfriend, not exactly prime candidates for conversation.

I notice Austin: six foot four, quarter-inch shaved hair and patches on a bleachedout jacket.  Sam persists that he's hilarious but I've yet to hear his German pornstar impression.  He mozzies on over to join our circle, plopping down beside me.

I feel the cool of glass pressing against my wristbone.  Someone passes me the pipe.  I think her name is Minnie but most people calls her Hollywood.  I ignite the neon green, sucking in a lungful of skunky sweetness.  The world swoons, a subtle inflation.  Glistening.  Some quality bud.  I knock the pipe against Austin's forearm.  He turns and takes it from my hand, a wordless exchange.

I sit here silent, stoned and attempting to pop my knuckles in new ways.  An unfortunate bout of anxiety assaults my cardiovascular muscles, increasing heartrate and electrocharging bloodflow.  I feel every tissue begin to shift, like a static breath beneath the skin.  And suddenly it's like little flecks, sparkling sunbursts.  I find freckles of energy flitting across the room only to overload my senses.

Mostly it's an intensity radiating from Austin.  His heaviness glows against me, an invisible pressure slinking along my left side.
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