secret of life

Arc Angels.  Power band.  Sexton.  Bramhall.  I would have exchanged a body part to have seen them live.

When I hear them now, it's 1992 again.  Summer at a beach house.  20 guys and girls jammed into a place we swore to the managment agency would only have 8 people staying in it.  I am en fuego.  A keg of Shiner Bock bought with a fake ID from Spec's.  Jim Beam.  Jack Daniels.  I am young and I am going to live forever.

Played cards with the devil.  And lost.  Listened patiently to the young sorority girl chastise me about 'needing to be drunk to have fun.'  Sure, whatever.  Threw a deckchair off the balcony to prove a point:  "You want to see stupid? I'll show you stupid!"  En fricken fuego.  The world belonged to us.  We were carpe-ing the hell out of that diem.  This weekend would never end.

3am.  Most had failed.  They retired.  Gave up.  Bodies strewn about like a war zone.  Not me.  More!  A run on the beach.  Keg floated.  Bottles empty.  A friend (who was in a deeply religious/mystical/drunken state on that same balcony) was about to finish the sentence, "...because, you know, the secret...the secret of life is..." But he passed out cold.  No amount of effort would rouse him to complete the thought.  And he knew.  In that moment, he knew.