The memories of.

My friend S. - we stopped talking for a while after she decided to try drugs and date a dealer. We used to go out and get dead drunk before that happened. We used to hang out and not get drunk and have the time of our lives. Vodka and chatting up random guys until the alcohol started wearing off of me and she got too drunk. The she sagged. Deadweight and heavy like a potato sack, I'd have to carry her around while she mumbled incoherently and I laughed my head off at the whole thing.
She'd drink coffee right after dumping cigarette ashes in it. We'd dance until our feet went numb. We'd go clubbing in flip flops. The point is - she got me. As fucked up as it sounds, she understood. That the shallow red cuts on my wrists were battle scars, not suicide. Teen me coping with the world. As fucked up as it sounds.
Me, I met her once while I was out stealing handbags from unsuspecting turists with another friend. True fact. She was with some boy and asked me if I'd seen him touching her. I said no. He hadn't been. Her breath smelled like nail polish remover, the little pixie.
My other friend swore opening the bag and finding nothing. Motherfucker. And my friend S., she was drunk and thought I was talking about her. Stalking towards me with her tiny fist up my face. She was too drunk to hit but it was still funny as hell.
The point is, there are those who fuck up and those who are fucked up. The point is, we're ok.
The point is, this random memory came up and I wanted to write this down. Not wanting to be limited in being too human, I don't want to forget anything. Just in case I do, this will remind me of the times.
I don't want to forget.
I don't want to.