Then—
“You okay?”
A voice like cigarettes, sex, and Sinatra.
I glance up.
Romeo.
He's heading in the same direction as my heartbreak, stepping into my path with a chin-tilt and cocked brow.
“Whole night left and a city wide open for somethin’ better.”
He holds out his hand,
a getaway car to get me out of here.
Open and waiting.
“You in?”
31 /CRYIN’
AEROSMITH
// NOV 26, 12:24 AM - LOWER EAST SIDE, NYC //
Vice spits me out, and the door slams behind us.
Bass drips out of its walls, heartbeat-shaped,
reminding me where I left my pulse.
I can’t think.
My brain abandoned me.
My heart begged to stay.
I told her no,
told her to go back underground,
play dead until it’s safe.
Now I’m staring out in front of me,
heartless and stupid.
The neon sign buzzes.
A horn blares.
Someone laughs.
My eyes are open, but I’m not here.
I’m gone. And it’s the weirdest fucking thing,
