"Come on you booze hound, Somebody wants to meet you!"

I met a woman outside of Lincoln NE.  
Back when the Road seemed holy,      
It was out at some old farmstead we weren't supposed to be at.      
But someone decided to invite me to one of the biggest fires i'd ever seen.      
Flames swirling 15 feet into the night sky.      
And that there was drink.      
And I was missing something      
I was hung up on Michigan.      
I had cigarettes.      
She had a 5 liter jug of port wine.      
and I was just beginning the long trail to gut rot.      
We called it a even trade and got away from all the pallet smoke.      
We sold our stories.      
and shared our woes.      
She was a few years older than I and I was to afraid to ask her if she had children.      
She seemed so...motherly....      
Maybe it was the lipstick.      
Maybe she wasn't even wearing any.      
The port was red after all...      
The details really don't matter,      
These are just the parts that haven't faded away yet,      
they're the parts i'm starting to remember again,        
now that the bottle has been gone.      
She kissed me.      
She took me over for long enough      
and started laughing the craziest or drunkest laugh I'd ever heard.      
When she composed herself she took a drink and continued to giggle.      
it faded into a sort of sadness      
some kind of apology.      
I felt warm.      
Without breaking eye contact she told me that she hoped it would be the most meaningless kiss I would ever have.      
"If this kiss stays more important than anyone else's, every new woman you'll know it's not love. You won't LOVE them. Remember that... I think you're gonna have trouble knowing the difference...."      
But its importance remained.    
and continued to be    
and she would be right.      
For the following      
Written by Harold-Weathervein (Levi Braathen)
Published | Edited 12th Oct 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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