Collapse into pettifogging

  That's how ecstasy usually ends: a lot of mess under the feet, and scattered brain all over the place. The humid sensation down there - twisting and hurling around your toes - is no dangerous species of worm; be at peace, it is only your brain. Better said, it is its enthusiastic, deadly entertained remains, with the soft, puffy texture of jelly. Yes, your indubitably almighty brain - lonely and deliberately ignored.

  The party had been ecstatic. The smell of rotten alcohol and sweated hormones harmonized completely. There was cheap tobacco floating in the stale air, along with the smell of some burnt, funny herbs and fancy deodorants. 





She poured the blood-red liquid cognac. She barely touched the icy edges of the frustratingly undersized glass. There were bodies lying all around the house, on the sofa, under the sofa and, defying physics, in the sofa, on the floor, on the TV, in the tub, on and under the beds, contaminating the attic and probably the bathrooms with their alcoholic vapors of misery; drunk bodies, drugged bodies, bodies whose any remaining sense of reason stuck to them only to keep the vital functions working - essentially, corpses. There were half-smoked cigarettes floating gracefully in beer pints and flower vases. Some late player hummed commercial music out of tone. She sniffed. A dirty pair of underwear and Pride herself lied on the 2000$ marble floor, in smithereens.

Half undressed, she went out, taking the cognac with her.

''You're gonna get pneumonia and die." he said with the straightest face an insomniac could possess. He must have been outside long before she decided to look for him.

"Remind me why I should care." she sniffed again.

"Because I'll be left on this dry, dry world without you" he raised his shoulders in naivety. She always fell for his sarcasm.

"AGAIN, remind me why I should care"

"Well, you'll miss me on the other side. Who else is gonna let you mock his guts to exhaustion?"

She smiled a dirty smile. He took her by the waist and drank her cognac. She stole his cigar and got away. His motorcycle was far more likely to hold her, as she got on. With alcohol and some cold lust dazzling their minds, destination was a matter of cards.