schweblog

I spent last night coming off of a high.  There was a dirt backyard and a fountain with koi and a bonfire in the middle of it all.  Lots of people and two kegs of good beer.  We talked and laughed and I was operating on three hours of sleep, being mindful to not let my red plastic cup slip from cold fingers.  It was chilly.

Whichever circle of people you were speaking with would effortlessly reorganize themselves around the heat radiating off the fire: people near would shuffle over because they were getting too hot, those farthest away would creep in closer to warm up.

It was dusty.  The smoke and heat coming off the fire would rise up, sometimes shaking the loose fall leaves off the tree.

And between flirting with the cute frisbee player and trying not to be awkward and attempting to form coherent sentences in spite of my severe lack of sleep, I took a breath, trying to discern between the smell of the burning wood and the cigarettes, and took solace in the fact that I was doing my part to make sure that youth is not wasted on the young.