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Ah, to be young, drunk and stupid...

Usually I'm in bed by now, because I'm an old old woman, but tonight the people from the luxury condo building behind mine are having a party. I can look down from my bedroom window onto the garden rooftop of their private parking garage, where they're holding it. It seems they've entered Phase Two of the party - Phase One was held earlier in the evening, when all the parents and couples in their thirties and forties chatted away over soft drinks and hamburgers. Phase Two, naturally, is the phase involving the much younger set, running around like teenagers who just found the key to their parent's liquor cabinet. Right now there seems to be some kind of Raiders of the Lost Ark-style drinking contest in progress, between a rather large and exuberant young woman and a slender, model-handsome man: they're faced off at opposite ends of a table, with row after row of shots alternating with giant plastic cups of beer. I predict the woman will drink that poor bastard into oblivion. Tomorrow morning, I shall look out my window and probably see his body curled up in a corner, covered in the contents of his stomach, and a little shame.

Time to put in the earplugs and plug the headphones into my sound machine. They're not making that much noise, but I really don't want to be listening when Mr. Pukey comes a-visiting. And something tells me that's going to be fairly soon...

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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