And What a Night It Is

I sit, slightly hunched over, Pall Mall in my left hand, listening to Gail Pettis In the Still of the Night. The furious baseline comes at me like the turbine of a plain with an identity crisis. On come a serene voice; "In the stiiiilll of the niiiight" It seems to arrive out of a parrallel universe coated in beauty. On this night, There is no heaven. There is no hell. There is no school. There are no glassy eyed peers. There are no maladroit instructors. There is only this moment. There is only my buzz. There is only that brunette from Nebraska doing a striptease in my mind. There are no wants, nor needs. There is only existance.