I went out to the club the other night. To you know dance with my bitches. That guy was there again. He's like. I'm sorry for what I said last weekend. I told him I didn't mind which was a lie. But I was equally sorry. And I didn't want to apologize. It was just a drunk text. In my head I was writing a fiction of us. Behind my eyes I was begging for. Things my lips could never ask. And my mouth kept pouring. Desperate clauses of random intent. He asked me if he could text me later. After the club. He hands me another shot of vodka. And I say sure. I'm on the dance floor when I get a text from adam. I'm too lazy to type so I send him a photo I took up a dancer's skirt. And tell him to come and get it. Not realizing what I had just said. Later on she comes up to me. Holds up her phone screaming at me and I say. I'm sorry it was just a drunk text. I should've known they knew each other. No one is safe in the twitter sphere anymore. You take the word sex and mix it with texting. It's called sexting. When you add drunk sexting. The words just don't make sense. It's a hot mess of misspelled obscenities. Body parts run on questions. I'm not sure what it means to ask. I get a text from my best friend. She's upstairs getting bottle service. She's like. This guy wants you to wet your lips with this bottle. He wants me to bring more girls up. Like he's some kind of pimp. Are you fucking kidding me?. It's just another moment. When one stupid reply can lead to the walk of shame. And I'll be damned if I end up in some lame diner after this. With last night's lingerie in my purse. It's just a drunk text. It's just a drunk text. This is the last time I ever drink and text. It's jut a drunk text. It's just a drunk text