late nights in the city

giddy with lack of sleep, we walk to the train, talking as fast as our mouths and minds will allow us. we laugh as we swipe metrocards too slow, stumbling down train steps, "this is the side towards manhattan." remembering a friend had sex in this train station, we laugh, unable to imagine anything more un-romantic.

our conversations take over the train car...sex and love and fucked up relationships and cheerleading and jobs that don't pay us enough but are satisfying or pay us too much are are so unsatisying and trips to europe and trips to inwoood and weirdos on the train and how much the government sucks. i can't imagine anything else i'd rather be doing.

slowly, we're emerging from the train at different stops. two of us wait for one train that takes forever, enter a car where an indie rock boy keeps staring at us, me. "what would it be like," i think, "if i said 'yes' to whatever he asked. who is he? why is he the way he is?" i wonder about people's secrets. i move my seat further from him, feeling like i'm nodding when she leaves the train.

at my stop, i dodge puddles of puke on the way up the stairs. behind me, "GROSS!" on the street, it's dark and quiet, save the occasional bus or cab or car. above, the few stars of new york city light the way to my home. a group of boys stand in front of the laundromat, smoking cigarettes, chewing gum, talking loudly. they tell me i look like sheryl crow. "rad, i have the same name as her." but i don't. we are different looking. my hair rustles in front of my face as i leave the boys, thinking, "god, if i had been 16 and growing up here, i probably would be dating him." but i'm not. i'm 25, locked into a relationship with someone who lives in another state and never gives me concrete answers...relationship?

my street seems darker, and i walk in the middle of the road to get home. i see a couple walking, swaying, further down my block. at my building, i nod to my neighbors standing in their doorway, talking, staring up at the few stars. in my building, i race up the stairs, already hearing the pathetic mews of my cat.

inside, i kick off my shoes--one in the kitchen, the other in the living room. i step out of my jeans in the kitchen, leaving the underwear inside them. my top is in the living room flor, bra on the bedroom floor, and i think i brushed my teeth.

when i collapse into bed, i fall into a dreamlike state immediately. i dream of a prison where it's not that bad and at least there's sex. not sure what else--oh yes, loft beds that are made of hay or straw or something.

waking up, the sun slowly peeks into my apartment, and i realize i will put this on repeat for tonight...except i will come home grimerier, with sweat covering my body and alcohol coarsing my veins and bitterness, of this "love," and probably, cigarettes from whoever was brave enough to smoke inside the clubs of new york city.