the air

written saturday evening in blue pen waiting for a play to start.

there's something in the air in montreal that makes me want a cigarette.

i miss a lot of people. i'm happy to be in the city. i'm happy to be seeing the play my friend is directing. the main character is really afraid of getting cucked. the city is beautiful with its careful stonework, mixed colors, twiling metalwork, and tangled vines. i'm not comfortable in the city without a close companion, and while i have a companion i'm in the position of support. i'm unclear if i can or should venture out alone (my phone is broken) but it feels wasteful to stay in. i could get a drink here but it feels out of place. i'm going to get some water.

it's called cigarette smoke. it's called ghosts.