with a canadian smoking american spirits.
he wants to heal me.
i want him to hold me.
drunk off a sip of light beer.
it's been days since i last ate.
the last band shouts, "there is no medicine for the shape that i'm in."
walking through china town and the east village, trying not to pass out.
i am weak.
my heart races in my gut.
it has been devoured.
one last smoke.
outside of penn.