II - The mental bar is almost touching the ground.

The man from Belgium knows me.

One sip had me under.
My bathtub was filled.
I could hear an accordion as I was lain submerged.

I thought about the wood of my floorboards
and then about how I needed more bread.

I knew I would surface soon and smoke a cigarette. And this cigarette will stain the longest fingers on my left and right hands. I switch hands often.

A listless gloss of remembrance washes over me and my mind goes to the yellow umbrella, her red scarf, the coffee she made and what she said.

Here we go.