warm feet

When he woke up he was happy because he saw that it was 10 45 in the morning. He made some noodles and put them on a plate and sat on his couch. He ate the noodles with the plate balanced on his knees and thought about girls and poetry. He thought about how they were both alike in many ways. He thought about writing a poem or writing a poem about a girl or writing a letter to a girl or writing a poem about a girl and sending it to a girl via letter.

He rolled a cigarette and smoked it and ashed on the plate because he couldn't find his ashtray. The night before he had done ecstasy with some friends and he reflected on the fun times they had. He felt a bit sad because real life wasn't as fun as life on ecstasy and naturally he missed the fun. He put out the cigarette on the plate and thought about bringing the plate to the kitchen but instead he laid down on the couch.

The sun wasn't at its peak yet but his apartment was on the sixth floor clear of all other buildings and the sunlight came in unfettered. His feet felt warm and he felt a lot of feelings and shit.