Open the sluice and break the levee.

12 days of fitful sleep brings you to the outer edge of things, where a raised eyebrow means more than a week of conversation and the last great beautiful thing that you saw was making a bee-line at sixty miles an hour anywhere the fuck away from you. You set the burners to high and leave them till your mind boils over, you build towers so you can see where you've been. You dig tunnels to find the last people who knew you when; you look, look, look desperately and with an honesty that scares your friends for a reset button.



90 miles out and you're wondering how you ever escaped Dorchester, and 90 miles out you're wondering if anything remains back there in the bullshit nights.

90 miles out you're wondering if this is a redemption story or a suicide, and 90 miles out you think of a raised eyebrow.



And eight minutes away, light is escaping a slowly dying star, and eight minutes later, it lands in an eye, under a raised eyebrow, and breaks your fucking heart.

If Allston were burning, would you go down to Mem drive with her and watch the show? you could sit there till dawn and breathe deeply the ashes of that shit town. Everything burns, and nothings redeemed, except for just another suck night in shit city, another bullshit night in the catatonic dread of the afterlife.