“I’m moderately young. Alive. And on the verge of Internet microfame.”
Mornings. In Verse.
Last Friday Night.
(No Katie Perry).
One of seemingly hundreds. Friend of a friend’s friend – mucho exclusivo.
Things turned odd.
There was a white limo involved.
And a Vizsla.
There’s a single section of velvet rope in my bed.
And deep dish pizza on my pillow.
I make for the bathroom, craving Excedrin.
Something is in my bathtub.
It’s just my brother.
He’s cradling a Fathead of David Ortiz.
As I grab my toothbrush I remember something.
I check Instagram.
There it is.
A photo I posted [timestamp 4:11 a.m.] of a shirtless Justin Bieber, a large teddy bear and what appears to be me – but like a hopelessly lost version of myself, staring into the camera like it can save me.
Only 16 likes.
Everyone’s still sleeping, I tell myself.
I’m moderately young.
And on the verge of Internet microfame.