For DMH and nostalgia's sake: Valpo to Vina

February 24th, my last
day as a 24 year old &
I feel like a jerk. My
hands are dirty, mascara
is all over my face,
my mouth tastes of
fermented death & the
last sip of water is long
gone. I'm pretty sure I
pissed my pants at least a
little bit on the walk
home last night, and without
a doubt tested the patience
of Panchi's mom when we
stumbled in after 1 a.m., &
again as I stood half-naked
in the laundry room
attempting to explain
that I'd spilt red wine
all over myself & that I
was sorry. If my Spanish
isn't already broken on a
good day, it's compound
fractured when I'm
drunk. I can't recall
what I wrote to whom
on the internet, but I'm
pretty sure it's things
I regret. I will
probably dedicate a chunk
of this afternoon to
looking for my cellphone
in the grass in front of
the grocery store where
we spent what must
have been a long time
wrestling a branch of a
palm tree. We won.
All I want is water:
to drink, to shower and
if I'm lucky, to wash away
this hangover and rinse
out these tethered
memories of a night too
good to not leave me
feeling like shit right now.