Furnace
Ex-Bluelighter
I had been drinking.
The pine taste of gin was coming up the back of my throat,
the numbness of the cocaine was fading.
I drove across the low level bridge,
and up along, past the old timers cabin.
I ripped open the baggie i had,
while steering, using my knees.
I saw that billboard in front of me,
but I didn't see the pole that supported it.
The last thing I saw before I hit it was the billboard.
Advertising my chances to win
5 and 20 million dollars for my freedom.
As my car elegantly wrapped itself around the pole,
like your legs around my waist when I toss you against the wall,
I can now say that I know what the sound is
when steel makes brutal love with itself.
The driver's door opens easily enough,
and I stumble out to check the damage.
I laugh as I check myself and see my ripped open baggie
covered in shards of metal and blood.
And as I reach to lick it,
I slip and manage to crack my head wide open.
I lay there bleeding, and I lose consciousness,
again, staring at 5 and 20 million reasons for freedom.
I wake up, and I'm in Sin City.
Laying next to you, I'm awake.
It's 7 am, and our bags are packed.
Our late checkout is hours away,
but I can't sleep.
I walk outside and see the empty streets of Vegas.
No cars.
No people.
Nothing.
Just errie emptiness.
I check the date on my watch.
September 11th, 2001.
I phone the front desk,
and it takes two minutes to pick up.
"What's the schedule for the airport shuttle?" I ask the concierge.
"You're sick, you know that? There's no way in hell you're leaving this city today."
I'm surprised with his reply.
What does he know that I don't?
"What are you talking about?"
Before he hangs up, he says
"Turn on your television."
I switch it from the pay-per-view movie channels
and start seeing the carnage.
The wreckage.
The smoke and fire that consumed the world on that day.
Falling to my knees,
I look at the sleeping beauty,
still blissfully unaware.
The last thing I want to do is wake her up to this nonsense.
I walk back out into the balcony,
and the streets are still empty.
Vacant, like my heart right now.
Back to bed, I think.
As I get back into the bed,
I try not to wake her up,
but to no avail.
"Hi." Your sweet mouth lets loose, within myself, a torrent of saddness.
I switch on the tv, and tell her to look.
As the tower crumbles, I get a chill throughout my body.
She clutches me, and I feel her tear fall on my shoulder.
"I was standing there last year."
I knew that, and I knew we weren't going to be going anywhere,
for a long time.
...
That's the last thing i remember before the paramedics revive me from my shock-induced loss of consciousness.
I looked back up at the billboard,
5 and 20 million.
So many chances to do redo those right things that went wrong.
The pine taste of gin was coming up the back of my throat,
the numbness of the cocaine was fading.
I drove across the low level bridge,
and up along, past the old timers cabin.
I ripped open the baggie i had,
while steering, using my knees.
I saw that billboard in front of me,
but I didn't see the pole that supported it.
The last thing I saw before I hit it was the billboard.
Advertising my chances to win
5 and 20 million dollars for my freedom.
As my car elegantly wrapped itself around the pole,
like your legs around my waist when I toss you against the wall,
I can now say that I know what the sound is
when steel makes brutal love with itself.
The driver's door opens easily enough,
and I stumble out to check the damage.
I laugh as I check myself and see my ripped open baggie
covered in shards of metal and blood.
And as I reach to lick it,
I slip and manage to crack my head wide open.
I lay there bleeding, and I lose consciousness,
again, staring at 5 and 20 million reasons for freedom.
I wake up, and I'm in Sin City.
Laying next to you, I'm awake.
It's 7 am, and our bags are packed.
Our late checkout is hours away,
but I can't sleep.
I walk outside and see the empty streets of Vegas.
No cars.
No people.
Nothing.
Just errie emptiness.
I check the date on my watch.
September 11th, 2001.
I phone the front desk,
and it takes two minutes to pick up.
"What's the schedule for the airport shuttle?" I ask the concierge.
"You're sick, you know that? There's no way in hell you're leaving this city today."
I'm surprised with his reply.
What does he know that I don't?
"What are you talking about?"
Before he hangs up, he says
"Turn on your television."
I switch it from the pay-per-view movie channels
and start seeing the carnage.
The wreckage.
The smoke and fire that consumed the world on that day.
Falling to my knees,
I look at the sleeping beauty,
still blissfully unaware.
The last thing I want to do is wake her up to this nonsense.
I walk back out into the balcony,
and the streets are still empty.
Vacant, like my heart right now.
Back to bed, I think.
As I get back into the bed,
I try not to wake her up,
but to no avail.
"Hi." Your sweet mouth lets loose, within myself, a torrent of saddness.
I switch on the tv, and tell her to look.
As the tower crumbles, I get a chill throughout my body.
She clutches me, and I feel her tear fall on my shoulder.
"I was standing there last year."
I knew that, and I knew we weren't going to be going anywhere,
for a long time.
...
That's the last thing i remember before the paramedics revive me from my shock-induced loss of consciousness.
I looked back up at the billboard,
5 and 20 million.
So many chances to do redo those right things that went wrong.
I love it!