and we walk to the hazard bridge and stand at the edge overlooking the freeway, traffic cones perched precariously on our heads, yelling and cheering through the chain-link fence as eighteen-wheelers thunder past underneath our feet, but it’s not the same.  i’m drunk and drunk and we’re all just individual shadows of our former self.  we’re taking different classes, we have different jobs, different apartments, different boyfriends, and it’s just not the same.  something’s wrong, but i can’t vodka tell if it’s me or someone else or everyone else combined.

and i don’t know how to fix it.