Don't kiss me. Your mouth is nothing but ash. I wish I would have said that. I wish. I should have. I could have. I didn't. Her lips locked onto mine and her tongue scavanged for bile down my throat. Gag me. I couldn't resist. The ash mouth seemed so clean. Yet. Dirty and disgusting. Big word. Grotesque. We're still doing this. This... wet, sloppy kiss that I objected to, but she is to drunk to understand me. Or to even understand what the looks on other peoples faces mean when they walk by and stare at us. I'm killing myself. They are all stareing at us. I'm watching myself. They look in disgust. Die. A jerk. This jerk laughs. And. Accidentally bumps into us. An accident is what he said it was. He says it. But does he mean it? She goes down. The drunk one. The high one. The one that kissed me. She falls down and doesn't get up. I'm wondering. Is that ketchup? I don't know. But one person screams. And you hear one persons shoes slam the ground as he darts away. I'm just stareing at her. Blind. Me. From. This. Horrible. Site. Focus. My eyes focus and dart on lock. The hit and run person. He is on lock. And. I run. Fast. To him. Leaving her, the blissfully drunk behind. Dead. Maybe. Running. Running. Running. And I'm ketching up to him. ...I once saw a billbaord that said if you kissed a smoker, you've licked an ash tray. Hm... Maybe that is correct. While I run, I try to recall if licking an ash tray was ever a point in my existence. Ketching up. Just. Like. Her. The runner doesn't see me. The hit and run person doesn't look back. He left his buddies. His girlfriend. His other girlfriends. And his dignaty. Or something. Like. That. He is stopped by a manager. To stop running. He stops. He listens and nervously looks behind him to see if he is being tracked. When he turns around. He. He sees my face. BAM! He is startled. Studder. Sound. In. His. Vocal. Cords. Maybe? I just wanted to say, I say in a smooth voice, Thank you.