Rolf, Camille and I walk a curving single file, warm on cheap vodka. It is late, the sky is black and static-y with snow. It sticks to our faces, stinging then turning wet.

Rolf is walking by my side. His hands are raw with no gloves and our knuckles occasionally bump. It reminds me of how we sleep. I am okay with this body, long and close to mine. I need it, but without touching.

“I love you” he would say, eyes soft. “You are my best friend, of course, I love you” I would say, with the eyes of some animal, suddenly aware of the heart beat in his chest. This is a phenomenon, right? The friend who is in love with you… But who, maybe you loved too? Maybe not now, but in the future? Love in some unconscious way that comes out malicious. “A love”, I might have said exhaling cigarette smoke “a love that so easily turns to hate”.

We walk against the weather in slow motion. We are a 6-legged beast battling the city, breathing alcohol. Red-blue lights reflect on the snow, the familiar outline of a cab. “Thank Fucking  Christ” someone says. Rolf opens the door and the three of us sit close in the back. Oddly, someone is already in the front seat.

“1444 West Chicago”, I say to the driver. Rolf leans against me and I press to the window. I open my phone, close it, open it, I scroll through texts. “So you guys partying?” The guy in the passenger’s side asks.

The three of us are suddenly bonded again. “Ohhh my god soo drunknnk” emerges from our throats in an asynchronous, high pitched unison…. “DRUUUUUNK”.

“Are you high?” The one in the passengers side asks. “Pfffffffshshht” says Rolf. Rolf is an acid dealer, he has drugs with names no one has ever heard of in his backpack.

“Yeah he’s not high” says Camille, sitting up straight. Rolf bites me and I smack at his arm. He bites my shoulder and pretends his teeth are caught for a moment on my dress. I swat his head.

It reminded me of that night  Rolf and I somehow started slapping each other, building until we were punching each other. We were smiling, laughing. People stopped, “Hey don’t do that. Don’t hit each other.”  It was spring then and stormy, the sky was purple like some exotic moon flower.

Camille looks ahead, at the two cabbies. “So are you a cab driver, also?” She asks the one in the passengers seat. “No, I’m a cop.” He says.

“Oh.”

I pull Rolf’s hair. The radio in the cab buzzes with voices. “Sooo, are you a cab driver?” She asks the driver. “No, I am also a cop” he says.

“I am sending you bites” Rolf says, fallen against my shoulder. I say something about a boy that might be at the club, someone I slept with. I say his name and Camille laughs.

Last month, Rolf had mescalin. We ate it on my bed. It was spiritual, we had each said afterward. “I saw visions of you” Rolf said. “I also saw visions of me!” I said.

The car stops. Camille climbs out while Rolf and I scramble, finding wrinkled bills to push toward the driver. “No, no”. Rolf extended the money again and the two men waved it away. “So we don’t have to pay?” Rolf asked. “I don’t know” I say and open the door.

I wake up on Camille’s couch. She is stretched on the floor, her eyes open, a macbook in front of her. I sit for a minute, letting the night wash through my memory. “Do you remember hailing that cop car last night?” Camille asks. I sit up, things shift back to their place. But even in knowing, it was hard to see clearly. “That was a cop car?”