Bass lurks. The dark brings about all creatures of the night to life. Yet the pavement only moves a single car, almost silently, the car drives against the wind. Setting into harmony with the pop electric tune of simplicity. Hazy exhaustive fingers unzip a small black leather pouch, aging as the product continues. Revelations. A suede of the dark orange lining gleefully warrants attention, to clearly decipher the man-made tools in its appropriate compartments. A man in the shadows of the night, driving, his face illuminates for a second. His identity is given up, the steady whoosh of the wind blowing his black hair wildly and the small silver hoop earring glimmers, he fades back into night. The clash of a cymbal begins the procedure, necessary, nails clipped to comfort, right hand gracefully pinching old reliable, a glass syringe, left hand twisting the needle clockwise. The riff of a guitar, continues, flips open the top and with a mere flick instantaneously sparks a single flame, beautiful and dangerous, history has morphed this moment. Steadily the flame is held close to the spoon, bent at the head, mercifully, brown rusting at the mouth with previous pure ventures, now bubbling with a familiarity. This view, he dominates with one hand on the wheel, the other lifelessly hanging out the window, feeling the wind against his destination through the low lit abandoned road. Heartbeat surfs. Blonde arm hairs delighted as the needle is forcefully pushed through the crevice, tough exterior of skin and body. Its time for control, the intricate movement of fingers will soon delight, pull back, velvet red liquid squeezed into the aqueous solution, natural, as it dances with one another the pressure begins. Carefully the saxophone steps in, the mischievous rhyme, the deed is done, euphoria. Lighting techniques, his face emerges from darkness, staring ahead, at me, we watched him. He looks to his left, in and out of the night. Barely catch his smile and forever fading. The freedom of worries
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