iamzach.com

fever dreams mix memories of the last time i saw you with events that simply did not occur. drinking too much till too many hours past closing time to the same strains of a handful of endlessly repeating songs. he drank with us for a little while, but i couldn't understand a word he was saying, the accent too thick, too many sentences wandered off into ellipses. i smiled and nodded and stared at the deer heads mounted on the wall, or watched the room, which tables the waitstaff stopped at most often, thinking of late night fights and car key confiscations between those certain customers. a circus train stopped outside, the wooden wagons filling the large picture windows at the front of the bar with garish colors and sad animals sleeping in partially illuminated cages. clowns filed in first, shuffling slowly up to the bar, some in normal clothes, some still in costume, all with remnants of face paint from the show. they moved as if they'd been fighting some strenuous losing battle for days upon days without sleep. one by one their left index fingers rose in an effort to catch the bartender's attention. a shot and a beer for each. i look back across the table at you. he is gone. you are talking to a man who talks and acts like david bowie playing andy warhol in a 90s remake of The Tin Drum. when i listen in, your conversation makes no sense, i quickly get lost trying to follow something about the breeding habits of south american fish. you catch my eye and smile and raise your glass, tilt it to your lips, something strange and brown and viscous slides out of it and down your throat. i see you swallow and smile and settle a little further back into the booth. i have no idea how sick i will be in a couple days, so i order more scotch, and the cheapest beer in a can available, i forget what it's called. 'i know what you mean' says the waiter.