Date: 2011-05-19, 5:18AM EDT
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You: at the party around 3 a.m. in a shirt that had been cut into a fluorescent scrap, passing a bottle between your friends.
Me: What line did I use? I don't think I used a line — honestly, who uses a line? — but I said something and you listened and you said something and I listened.
While we were naked in the abandoned house at dawn, you said something nice and I said, "You probably say that to all the boys." Maybe that was a line, but, sorry, I am getting this out of order. I have to go back.
You bragged about being at a protest — somewhere else, another state, with all your friends — and I agreed, yes, fuck the police. No one brags about protests anymore. Where have you and your braggart friends gone?
The bottle was done and another bottle, and you pointed at a green house — one of those vacant Victorians that look like they're sinking into the swamp — and said, "Let's go there."
It was always hot then, there.
We walked to the back door and I tried to open it but the door was locked and I handed you my bottle and kicked the door and it opened.
I don't remember how my clothes came off. Can you remind me? You barely had clothes to take off, they were scraps.
Am I getting all this wrong? This is a reason to get in touch.
What was that thing — the way you reached back between our legs while I slipped into you from behind — is there a word for that? I have missed that thing whatever it is.
Later we were lying on a pile of clothes — I mean my clothes and your scraps — and I remember not being able to tell if it was: my sweat or your sweat or wet air or what.
I got a good look at you when the sun rose and filtered through the old windows. Can you send a picture like that? I could recognize you in dirty light.
There were words in the tattoos on your arms and, like I said, you said things to me and I don't remember what those words were, either.
What I do remember is fucking, and what I'm hoping is that if this fucking has stayed in my mind for six years, then maybe you remember the fucking as well, and maybe you have also found yourself alone at night thinking, "I have missed that thing whatever it is."
We ordered a cheese pizza with no cheese, had it delivered to the abandoned house for breakfast. Do you remember being vegan? I remember being vegan.
• Location: Atlanta
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Creative Loafing Contributing Writer Wyatt Williams has been tested recently.