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NORMAN NIGHTS

by Robert Spencer

Swirling city streets,
lights go by in sheets and streaks.
The steering wheel never felt
so out of place in my hands.
Grazed a bright orange construction barrel.
I drive on.
Have to get off the main street:
confused,
dizzy,
nauseous-
going to get sick.
The car hugs the side street as best as it can
with a flipped out, tripping drunkard
puking out the door.
Can’t find my friends house,
no sense of direction.
No sense at all.
Somehow find my way back to the bar,
missed the drive, can’t turn around.
Goddamn construction.
This is it,
swing the car next right,
parallel park.
Not too bad for a fuck up.