tippling, tripling arm in arm up twenty-sixth, they fade - focus, peripherial, a flash of ass in the rear view mirror'll be all you see. I'm still and the car's hollow, and we wind our way together. Red and white beer cups cover a yard, the party's survivors stand close. Peaceful not empty, still not mired, that's the way to be. But still, I'm tired and my will is sleeping, and the old ways nod to the guards and walk in like they own the place. Sleep is what I need.