3:33 are you kidding me?

There was a band once, that I played bass in. The singer wrote this song that shared the title of this entry. He was up at some apartment that was either full of women, men, or both. He looked at the clock and couldn't believe the time.

This was almost 10 years ago.

I look at the time now and don't even think twice. I'm drunk or high or both. I'm working on finding a bed, finding a couch, or finding my own. Or either. I'm telling stories of lost friends, him, lost ways, mine, and lost hopes, ours.

The clock on the bookshelf is counting away my heartbeats; it's inching me closer to death. I leave and the counting stops. It moves to the next one in the room. Or the bookcase goes to a new apartment, a new room, a new hall. And that things holds books I've never read, from people I will never know, but leaves spots for the books that you gave back.

Those books sit on my counter and I have no space for them; I have no bookcase. But I'll keep them, and find a spot for them.

I got a new bookcase today.

I hope she has room for my books, my life, my shit, and me.