friends in high places: an apartment reading

for thomas crowley. the sound goes deaf near the end of the blues song. Every smoker smokes too much they say out on the balcony, enjoying the mist out there suddenly clouding the city. I ask her how tall she is and she says short. Maybe five feet, three inches, three and a half inches and she touches my arm like it’s new.

Good height.

She stares at the men like a snake unhinging it’s jaws and says hello, where are you from? I think Portland and say where ever. Another cork pops from a bottle. Shy ones wonder if they should sit on the couch or take a smoke too or stand over there. The girl goes right ahead and asks me the question she’s been saving for a moment like this:

Do you ever feel like we’re just waiting to remember everything?

Scientists say. Babies can dream up their entire lives in their perfect sleep and soothing rocking cradles, and Thom says this is what deja vu really is. This is why we are so in love with serendipity and why we are so quick and easy, to dismiss it. Why friends are such a scary thing.

The room is quiet even when the band plays. This leaves room for a voice over narration, and I am thinking: your voice.

photos by lena nans