this feeling reminds me of those sleepless nights driving through los scandalous. windows down, sunroof open. thoughts of humanity, mortality and love quickly pacing in my mind, one chasing the other. the same NAS album on repeat, the occasional skip from a pothole on wilshire. driving past LACMA, lights illuminating my path brighter than my (future) path. if only life could be so easily illuminated. fucked up. drugged up. crept up. slept up. burnt up. turned down. no matter my aimless meandering, i always aimed for hollywood and vine; our rendez-vous location that had you paying for my cab fare and me sobbing in your arms about a stolen wallet or forgotten friendship. fuck. why does it always come back to this? a sleepless night, fogged by bottles of champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice? a distant memory, immortalized by the feelings that lay nestled in our hearts forever? with the bottles of veuve come the memories of a not so distant past. with the accomplishments come the humbling reminders of who we once were. we were so close to perfection, you and i…