The light of nineteen pastel coloured Chinese paper lanterns flickered and spiraled around the garden pool, forgetting the epileptic party down the street. There, the field was littered with old cigarette butts, broken champagne bottles, and already forgotten memories. As if by request, a raven, whose rusting wings trickled golden charcoal from an old fire, ascended into the sky. My hazelnut roast coffee, however, demanded complete attention and set fire to my trachea as its sepia tendrils floated up to the café ceiling. I ignored the warning and looked up again to see nineteen fluorescent glowing moons exploding across the heavens, leaving only a dying spark on my retina.
