Souvenir for P

Green and geckoed and stuck in a bottle, mottled and rotten, wrinkled and musty. I remember that moment in my drunken archives, that liquor that made my stomach my enemy. I swallowed fermented lizard and my tongue has never forgiven me, that insult and dangerous panacea for anxiety. Al cohol you later, I promise I will, pop another pill, knock back a shot glass full of Vietnamese or Czechoslovakian swill. Wander into a party at 4 am and get naked, impromptu photographs rapidly become legendary, etched in anecdotes for posterity, posthumour fame and an irreverent name, but things don’t last on the internet, no one can hold a grudge online because we never know who’s next in line. I am eminently blackmailable, one of 7 billion swine, so what? Fifteen minutes is all I need, countdown to become ordinary again. Liberate me with the threat of extortion, I have skeletons in my inbox but no no no I don’t believe in abortion.