Stream of Consciousness 12.5 – Jacob Meyer

I break a bottle over your head sent like a half-empty epiphany from god. The lightbulb above your head lights up for the first time and it glows bright in the darkness of this parking lot. You’re on the ground, lightbulb horizontal, and knocked the fuck out. I take out your wallet from your back pocket and rifle through the contents. Some gift cards, a business card or two, a driver’s license, twelve dollars in cash, and a photo of a woman. I kick you in the ribs lightly to make sure you were still out and pull out the photo of the woman. I turn you over and and stuff the twelve dollars into your mouth, singles and all. I return the wallet sans the twelve dollars and the photo. You’re not a handsome man, I observe, I wonder why she loves you, or rather, loved you, as the case may be. I bet she smells nice, something like heaven and lemons, calling back to the feeling of coming up on a high, when there’s nothing on the planet that could ruin the moment shared. A single breath and it’s over, a whiff that sends me home.