I received a text saying that the indie show started at my favorite DIY venue, so I abandoned the idea of ”Sonic” and ran to the east. With some precious miracles, all my friends were there. When I walked around the crowd and collided with a familiar face and outstretched hands, it felt religious, as if I had been interrupted in a state of grace.
I promised to come back and spent the night, but for some reason I knew it wasn’t true. The 10-year plan is dead. All I could do was make the most of the wake. So, in a much more cosmic way than intended, I packed the college experience I might have had into one strange, sweaty, euphoric night. I danced to the Pixies song, sobbing outside the venue for no reason, and slamming my cheeks. I got engaged, kind of. I was very lucky to be known.
My friends and I took the bus home, most of them were drunk, some of them dragged sexual intruders back into their dirty dorms. They flew from front to back, filling the bus with the energy of beautiful people whose best and worst haven’t come yet. I hid myself in a sticky corner sheet, pointed the phone’s camera at it, turned it on with a smile, put my head on the shoulders of a stranger, put on my headphones, and rarely noticed that sensation. Of the time to go through me. I was listening to my favorite Christmas song “New York Fairy Tale”.
Another precious friend (only one of us has a car) took me to the airport at 4am and stepped into a quiet terminal with my passport in my teeth. , The lipstick got dirty and the rain smeared the dress on my body.
Rain Fisher Quan Substack Newsletter Internet Princess writer.