(Outside collaboration by Indie and Anthrows)
I’m good to go.
Driving past the playground, nostalgia kicks in.
I’m a long way from sunscreen and carrying around my favourite toys.
Driving around in truck a now, instead of being pulled around in a wagon.
There’s no time to reminisce.
Meeting the boys for a couple of drinks.
The new age playground awaits,
where there are games to play, new people to meet,
and girls with "cooties" to chase.
If I catch one’s attention, I’ll buy her a drink, and talk my way up under that mini skirt,
drive towards the bullshit, pull up and put it in park.
The place looks the same as it does every other week,
a jungle gym, already crawling with grown-up little kids
burning off some of that hyper energy, running back and forth from bar to deck.
Eleven dollars a jug? Hell yes, I’ll take two.
Now who's gonna join me for a cigarette?
Thinking back to the days when the closest I ever came to a smoke
was “fads” candy, sucking on those sweet sticks like I was grown-up and cool.
A couple of drinks down and look at us,
hanging off each other’s necks like we’ve actually missed each other.
Yeah, yeah, I love you, you love me, we're a dysfunctional family.
While you’re climbing all over me like I’m some piece of equipment
Geez, ged orf, I'm not your fucking monkey bars.
And you gotta love the drunk talk, as we’re slurring out half remembered pickup lines
like we're all messiah-like philosophers and so. very. fuckin'. funny.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Pretty sure it was due to narrative inconvenience...
Dude, you should be a comedian…
And there goes the blonde, whose name I can’t remember.
One too many drinks and she’s falling over her stilettos
like a stilt-walker at a fair ground.
Are you okay sweetheart?
Guess it's a good thing the floor ain't made of pavement.
Mommy ain't here to kiss what could have been a boo-boo.
No band-aid for you.
“Don't Stop (fucking) Believing”
The anthem that unites all drunks different and alike.
Yes, yes, she's just a small town girl, living in a lonely world. I get it.
We’re drunk off our innocence and high on life.
These nights (and some days) we're just drunk and high on an influence,
trying to remember what it felt like when life was simple
and the biggest worry we had was a grazed knee.
Thanks buddy, I owe you one.
As I’m stumbling upwards, no pain, no gain, a smile plastered on my face.
Last call? Already?
Unlike this playground, the park was never closed...
sneaking out at two in the morning to swing on the swings
like I was ten years old and in love with the sky.
Fuck it, give me another jug. I'll down it like a juice box,
though I’m pretty sure juice boxes tasted better
and my mouth didn’t resemble an ash tray.
The final clinking of glasses, and murmured, dude, you look like shit,
and, I fucking love you, man, confirms one hell of a night.
One I vow to remember, but will wake up forgetting.
Alright boys, I slur out, it's been a pleasure, but tonight I'm passing on the after party.
Miss Mini Skirt and I are going to go play by doctors.
No nap time for us.
I'll see y’all tomorrow night.
Here, at the playground.