Our little gang is trick-or-treating. The leaves are golden flakes soggy and crisp along the edges of the side walk. We are walking back and forth between each others' houses. Walking west, it is spring time, walking south, autumn. In spring/west, it's violet hues and balmy, in autumn/south, it's orange and black and dark.
He's wearing fingerless gloves and a peculiar enthusiasm for whatever he's suggesting. I've never dreamed about this person. Now that we're assembled in the living room by the wood stove, he crouches to be eye-level with us. He's bombastic right now. His typical intellectual acuity is overrun by a gruff and furious enthusiasm. This is translating to me as "lust." He's trying to speak to me in a secret and lustful language. We are going to do his idea and I'm draw to it purely via lust.
"Maybe we were doing MDMA?" I start to lucidly think. Then, "Maybe [me and an unrelated crush] we should do MDMA!"
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