2004-01-15 - 5:13 p.m.

stacie's birthday

six inches of snow drift over the city like florida sand
but we are warm in the high bar
all pink and green recessed lighting
smoking under heat lamps
nicknames shuffle in and out of the room
embrace, make toasts, change seats
we sip and giggle, make outrageous demands
appreciate everyone's outfit

the whiskey has lowered my voice half an octave
and suddenly we are running in the fresh snow
midtown is our playground, unplowed streets
handfuls of powdery flake are being thrown at me, drifting down the front of my sweater
an ambush takes place somewhere near the park
i can't slide like the others, he thinks its because i'm from california
i'm laughing so hard i surprise myself
stacie is screaming ahead of me
with promises of whiskey and cabrides
and i'm slipping through the snow
just to keep up with her.