this morning #8.

this morning, his face was so red. so red that the evening before was so dark but so fun. this morning was just the same. tomorrow. today. two weeks past. pressed shirt on the floor. neat face. smile. soberly wasted. one day on. next day off. tasting excitement in everything. eggs & toast & coffee from his wife's hand. moments alone with the stereo. when the motivation hit, he would wander the streets, striking up soon-after-forgotten conversations, bouncing from one fleeting companion to the next, scribbling mementos down in a tiny notebook. in the morning, he would flip through it slowly, always piecing it together with wonder.