I was turnt, barging into railings toe stubbed and thirsty. We saw this big bird stride and waddle, mallard red cloak, black tights goose down slick, golden buckle on her ostrich hips.
Behind her a brown fox. Pockmarked cheeks and fine black hair shimmering in grease, stumbling around the birds tail feathers in a drunken figure eight.
Crouched over hand cut spuds drizzled in chipotle ola listening to Zach discuss the merits of truffle sauce and white fish batter I said.
"Tell me your name"
"Lark" she replied
I half cocked my smile and pointed at the fox.
She slow spun her eyes and spat introductions. Knots twisted my diaphragm as he reached out grasping; I mirrored his moves. I wanted to pull him in,inhale his clothes and brush his chin with my finger tips.
We high fived instead.
The beautiful creatures forgot us and stalked on toward the doe legged monsters in referee stripes spilling out of our towns most arsenic heavy watering hole.
We sat up stream and watched the refuse pour, filled up on meat, too drunk to down curb.
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