Peter's Friends

Six years ago, we sat up drinking red wine and smoking fag after fag after fag. We had finished finals weeks earlier, but nobody wanted to leave. We had the house all summer, so all summer we drank in the day, slept in each other's beds and let the bills come in - white and then red. No-one talked about the future, except to list all the things they didn't want to do next. Every night we cooked a Bacchinalian feast. We dressed for dinner and made speeches. Dirty dishes collected in every room. The rest of the time we fought and formed factions and fucked - but never each other. We reminisced and then chided each other for being prematurely nostalgic. No-one worked, no-one cleaned, and only I got up before noon.