Surrounded by the music coming from the record player,
Drunkards squished onto a couch,
Having a conversation about bugs and ketchup,
Being drowned by time,
It's one thirty in the morning and I'm freezing,
Wanting to grab an oversized blanket and curl up on that bed,
I let my eyes focus on dirty jeans,
Pretending to read,
Dodgy dreams and swollen throats.