by Adam Crittenden

The best way to make memories is to get wasted. I want to drink until I black out, and when I wake up the next afternoon, my buddies will tell me all the wild events, and I’ll begin to trade my void with the concept of me running around in the street without my shirt on, me jumping into the Bellagio’s lake only to be fished out by police, me escaping from the jail downtown and catching a ride with a group of local musicians, me stealing their van when they went inside a Walgreens, me calling my ex-girlfriend and telling her that I love her, me explaining to her that I’m not a douchebag, me hanging up and jumping into the top of a moving limo screaming “I’m a douchebag,” me lighting Harrah’s on fire, me lighting Las Vegas on fire, me watching everything in the world except me waste away in green and orange flames.

Adam Crittenden holds an MFA in poetry from New Mexico State University and serves as an editor for Lingerpost, Puerto del Sol, and Apostrophe Books. His work has appeared or will appear in Whiskey Island, Thumbnail Magazine, Metazen, >kill author, Bluestem, and several other journals.