On weekends, I go to barrooms and see my old friends.

We stare at each other behind various colors of glass.

I have a memory with each one. Good ones.

I remember the ones I loved most. And I recall quickly which ones I only tolerated.

Every once in a while, I feel their invitation to rejoin the group. If I’m honest, sometimes I really want to.

At times I still desire that life where memories disappeared with my money; to spark anew the era of waking up and passing out in any place but my own bed; and all of the morning hours spent in wild abandon like a dancer on ecstacy.

Who wouldn’t miss the freedom of that?

But, the thing is, in the morning light, you still feel that collar of responsibility and reality all over again.

The chains of being a human being aren’t really escapable. You just forget feeling them around your wrists for periods of time.

And I don’t like how my old friends always took my money and left me high and dry after a night out.

So, I still come and visit.

We share a knowing look. Maybe a smile.

Then, I leave again ⏤ before it’s too late.