sitting in a fast-food restaurant in montreal with dim gray lighting, the light-up signs with pictures of poutine and onion rings were yellowed and humming. it was last march, I was with laura and lauren. we probably smelled like cigarettes, waiting for a mac demarco show going on down the street. I don't remember them selling anything other than onion rings and poutine and when I ordered onion rings the man at the counter yelled, "des rondells!!!!" I asked for what I thought was a napkin in french and he gave me a plate. We laughed a lot and drank big cans of beer out of plastic bags (the drinking age in montreal is 18), the kind that said "thank you!" written on it. someone yelled at us hey you can't drink beer in here, so we went to the bathroom and drank them over the sink, laughing, foam rolling down our chins.
being 13, probably, and driving with my mom, dad and stephen to the outer banks. Once every few years or so we would pack our station wagon and leave early in the morning, while everything was still quiet and empty, weirdly suspended in time. we would watch the world buzz to life through our car windows (smudged with fingerprints) with each passing hour as we drove southward. We stopped at a place called "elvis's diner" and I ordered french fries and ate them out of a baby-blue box in the shape of a vintage car, feeling a sugary swallow of sprite burn in the back of my throat.
coming down from an acid trip on a warm day last july, me laura lauren hayden wyatt. wyatt and I really liked each other at the time I think, we had sex a lot and would spend a lot of time in each other's beds listening to music and reading. comics usually, and lots of ariel pink and psychedelic-type stuff. wyatt was wearing a hat that day that said "marco's italian coldcuts" and he's six-foot-four with thick eyebrows and a mop of dark curly hair and sometimes he would deliberately brush his hand on my arm or something and it would make the little hairs on my back stand up. anyway on that day in july we all took our bikes down to the old north end (wyatt was skateboarding actually), at that perfect time of day right before sunset when it's still warm and everything is dark but glowing red a little bit and you can see people starting to turn on the lights in their houses. people were sitting on their porches and smoking cigarettes. we went down battery street and cruised downhill through a cemetery and we could hear the clicking of our bike chains echoing off gravestones. we reached the end of the cemetery where it overlooks the lake and the adirondack mountains (I think it's the adirondack mountains). the sun was still setting and the sky was pink and blue. I was still tripping a little bit and the clouds sort of looked like what you'd see in a nintendo video game. I drew lots of little suns on my knee with a black pen. I had brought a bag of chalk and everyone took some and drew on the paved path that weaved through the cemetery. lots of green swirls, pink cartoon faces.
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