bretonfingerss

Breton Fingers is spouting off some Rimbaud to your palm sized reflection in a commandeered hello kitty compact with one hand and gives you a paper cup full of Cherry Coke and codeine syrup with the other.You taste it and instantly realize he's gone to the trouble of mixing it with real grenadine and a Maraschino cherry. You brush elbows with a tender blond with paisley eyes, but she's from Reykjavik and only speaks Icelandic so you trade shy smiles and discreetly rub knees on the sofa. By the end of the song the feeling of the codeine's cushioned blow is already starting to take your breath away. The bon vivants pass joints in the studio apartment making tasteful comments on the furniture and giving informed opinions on the literature. A skinny hipster with dark raccoon eyes like a Russian mystic passes you the velvet hose to an ornate hookah in the center of an accumulation of throw pillows. It's full of Moroccan Hashish(because that's where you get the best hashish) and your eyes turn pink as punch as you savor the sensation in your lungs. You picture them there inside you spread out black like bat wings in the narrow cage of your chest. The music is twinkling and the ever mounting euphoria is giving you the that tight, balloon inflating in the chest experience that sickly sweet achy heart adoration. Everything starts to move like you've been submerged in marmalade all slow and saccharine. Breton Fingers is down on the rug tearing apart some pop song, but the lyrics go off like old timey flashbulbs capturing the visceral little bits in his mundane reminiscence. Then its like a musical and everyone knows the words.You're clipping out the best parts of anachronistic magazine but you can't bring yourself to glue the pieces down just shuffle them around whenever it feels right. The glow of the room is awfully flattering its like some kind of post mod opium den circa 1964. Everyone looks beautiful and effortlessly posed and colored with Polaroid film stock. You feel instant nostalgia like you already miss this moment as it happens, as its slipping between your fingers. When night comes everyone starts to dig the orange of the streetlights, because it's really beautiful isn't it and you'd hadn't ever really noticed before.