sometimes after a long spring evening of love and drinking and psychedelic dreaming and african-inspired disco rhythms mingling with valerian root and fine wine, with pretty women exchanging dresses like black and white mages, making everyone wonder how many roses can bloom on a table how many glasses can break on a table how many sides a wooden table can have and how many people have actually seen the famous films that have inspired us all to languish in arcades and to laugh on rooftops and to recite famous choruses in creaky hallways and to brr embracing the windy night, one can find nothing more perfect than walking to the bus stop and disintegrating: