Anatomy of a Shoulder Injury

I remember skidding across Santa Fe avenue, drunk and ridiculous, and the bottle sliding out of my grasp. I remember the sound of your laughter colliding with the shattering glass and the spill on the dirty sidewalk. I remember the headlights, something abrasive and coarse, and a motor horn like a tenor sax, and tires screeching. A sudden blow on my left shoulder and a slip back to the ground, neon bar signs like Christmas lights and Doppling traffic behind. And I remember laying there on my back, chuckling on the cold and wet asphalt. I remember feeling the raindrops, and thinking to myself that time must’ve slowed down or something. I don’t know how long I stayed there– it could’ve been a split second, just taking it all in, waiting to catch up with myself. I remember your face slipping into frame, in a panic, scrambling for a cell phone. I remember laughing it off, trying my best to stand back up, bringing you back down with me. I remember us laughing like a couple of drunken idiots as voices beckoned us back to the safety of the bar. I remember how your jeans were still wet and stained from that fall in the mud several hours later. We just couldn’t keep ourselves vertical. It was one of those nights.

Listen to Atlas Sound’s “Criminal” by clicking the link below.

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