Getting Dashboard Confessional

Over a pint of ice cream at the 24-hour Gourmet Heaven deli on Broadway. Cynthia, Becca, Ryan and I sat around a tall table telling long, not-tall, tales for 5 hours until 4 in the morning. We started with truth or dare, soon phrased truth or truth, soon a flow of phrases about relationships with people and pets and god. After we exhausted ice cream but not conversation or each other, we licked peanut butter out of cups and ate leftover lasagna imported from the successful dinner party. Eyes' contacts dried up but not the stream of stories, questions thrown rippling thoughts and spilling over guts in a give and take of own human history, currency for connection. We traded our divided, individual opinions for what we wanted to wade all night in, contact with other I's. I saw separate selves sit together tearing Styrofoam into statues and talking till past the thought of the work we all had in the morning seemed relevant. To keep my eyes from falling out, I made saline solution by stirring salt in my water. Dipping twice into bitter herb memories, they dissolved at once in sea of sharing experiences with my non-profit people, my President's Public Service, wanna change the world friends. Felt like fellowship and best all-night end to New Haven summer days.