debris i

“You’re high right now aren’t you,” Kathy asks me.

She feels my forehead. Looks into my eyes.

“I don’t even exist right now.” I tell her.

“Perfect,” she groans.   Kathy starts picking up clothing from the bed and piling it all on the desk chair.

“You don’t get it we're all insignificant.  Nothing matters.”

Her face wrinkles.

You don’t make any sense when you're high. She strokes my hair.  It’s like your conversations are elsewhere.

Truth.