They are lighting up the city for a festa. ____ develops a migraine after valiantly rallying at the Henry J. Beans Happy Hour. I don’t know what to say to do but I am genuinely concerned and the depth of my concern itself concerns me, struggling to nail down the origin of a thought as I retreat down past Old Mint Street with a Cisk and a lit cigarette that I don’t smoke until close to the incongruous Pizza Hut outlet. I sit and listen to the cabaret act play ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’ in full over a red wine and it is only the smell of burning cotton that tells me I’ve burnt a cigarette hole through the hem of my purple polo shirt. The cat that has been here previous nights is not here. Where is she, I wonder? What is she doing right now? I sit, legs in the pool, close to midnight, receiving text messages and playing the Eurythmics on loop. My new jam is ‘Fingers and Thumbs’ by Erasure. A shattered heart it loves to breathe.