Great and Terrible Secrets: I

I.
She laughed, turned away and he smiled into her hair his hands on her hips, fingers finding belt loops.

Pulse, umph, umph umph, pulse.

(((My lips are bleeding, cracked from the cold evening, having them licked under a mostly waned out moon.

In England, when you're stumbling drunk, wasted on whatever kamikaze chemical cocktail you downed --do you know what they call that? "Detroit'ed." They call it Detroit'ed. )))

He says to the man, "I'm . . ." He looses the word, replaces it (((quick, quick))) with another, "Tipsy."

"Can I buy you a beer?"

"Cranberry Vodka Beer?"

"Cranberry Vodka, got it!" And he's away from the boy, who hot foots impishly in place for a moment then follows, the crowd parting for him (((like it always does.)))