Falling deeper

Agh. Your vision is supposed to be two eyes knitting together one picture. Your brain overlays them and downplays the differences so you can have one, solid, reliable, three dimensional picture. So what happens when your two eyes are looking at different things? Or, maybe it's more about: what happens when the two halves of your brain are interpreting two different moments?

It could only be that I took something that didn't agree with me. I was sitting on the bench at the bus station feeling far too sober. The skin up against my palm, my forehead, was clammy with sweat. I could feel it. There wasn't a need to pinch myself, because I was already feeling pinched. But I was also–

I could scream. I was screaming, already. "Fuck!" My legs wrapped around poor Rania's head. If I wasn't careful I would strangle her. But she didn't seem like she would mind. Her fingers were digging deeper into me, threatening to turn me inside out and upside down. Brown eyes. Dark curls. We could have been flying. Her ass, not to be crude, was incredible. If I wasn't otherwise occupied I would've begged her (on my knees) for her workout regimen.

"I don't know how you'reeeeee........"

Tear me to pieces tear me to pieces tear me to pieces tear me to pieces tear me to pieces tear me to pieces tear me to pieces

We could have been flying.

Only November. Too early to be turning on the heat in the bus stop, but God knows I would hold it against the transit authority anyway. I needed to wrap myself around a space heater and beg for forgiveness. Something, obviously, had it out for me. Licking my lips, I tried to revive the taste of Rania or our mysterious host. If I could then I could convince myself that this was the unreality. Why would I be at a bus stop in not enough clothing after having had all that? I should be getting railed by some mafioso, maybe while a beautiful brown haired girl eats me out from below, or kisses him, or...