I traced that smiley mouth on that Tiki cup filled with vodka, budding with condensation, but the smile wasn't helping. The vodka was. I wasn't tapping my feet to the music, I was acting like a deranged Dorothy and wanted to click myself anywhere but home. I wanted to ride the high to Candyland and splash into your lava lamp heart, so I could float with the glow that highlighted my stupor which was fueled by the touch of that condensation.
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