The Killer In Me Is The Killer In You
After an absolutely insane week I was running on fumes by Friday night, but Maria was turning twenty-one and celebrating late at the Knaack, so I had to show up. Started at Tomi’s parents’ grabbing fish and cucumber salad—sounds mundane but it’s exactly what you need when you’re this destroyed, something casual and grounding. Then the power cut out across the neighborhood somehow and I might’ve caused it or just convinced myself I did in my fog. Either way we got to the car quick, picked up Sven with his cherry beer, went to Mandy’s to mess with her guinea pigs Paul and Paula for a bit.
Supposed to find some emos and bring them along, but there weren’t any, so I blamed the 80s music and we just went to the club. Somewhere in there—complete blank—I was stuffing five-euro notes into Maria’s cleavage, which definitely happened but feels like a dream now. Around three in the morning I got trapped in a conversation with two law students about proper German pronunciation, completely serious about syllables at an hour when nobody should care.
Home at four, McDonald’s Big Mac and fries, threw on Soloalbum and was just gone. Woke up with straw all over my floor and I still don’t know why.