Short-story

I have little time left
Now I'm drunk and high on the bench of the central park
Singing and yelling with my friends with beers in hand
Planning about the next day
The chicks of yesterday's night club
The stores at the west corners
The hotties in the gay's ball that pat my crotch

"Hey man" I said to Jack, "Bet what's the color of the next day's sun"
"I bet the first hot chick that we see tomorrow it's red" said Ivan.
"So do I" said  Ken.
" Has to be white."
Parker thinks it's gonna be yellow.
I bet the rest of my life, that it will be black.

Then we get up and hang around in the empty street of the midnight
With arms on each other's shoulders, with beers between our thumbs and the other fingers.
Whistling to the cute smiling streetwalkers
Cursing at the mosquitoes of the early summer

I still want to see how my mom's doing
She must have been crying day and night
For her only son who hasn't been home for years
I passed by that house once in a while late at night seeing the light-out room of her bed
Seeing her lying on the other side of the curtains
Asleep or tossing and turning
Couple of times I ve heard her cry
Tried hard to stop the urge of flying inside

And that girl with orange hair named Roberta
Love of my life,
I will never forget the first time we made out in the darkness
Inside the warehouse in the backyard
Her musical moan and her sweet sweat
Her wriggling body like a flower shivering in the spring wind
Her smoothy skin like the wind of the summer
Oh how I wish to see her again
Her memorable smiles and her shining seawater eyes
Hadn't I broken her heart
Simply to say hi and see if she's been doing well, bless her to find someone that she deserves for her life

Wooh we wander and wander around on the empty town of the midnight
 Vaguely humming songs with vague lyrics
"Oh Nana would you please come back to me/
"Hadn't I got involved in the bloody fight/
" Hadn't I fucked up my life/
"Hadn't I got drunk and raped the poor girl in the stormy night/
"Oh Nana please don't come back to me again
Oh oh oh Nana please don't come back to me again
Oh oh oh oh Nana please don't come back to me again again again again... "

Then the sun rises
It turns out not to be red,
Neither yellow,
Nor white,
Nor black.
I never get the chance to see it.
I guess it's the color of the rose
A blood red rose on the table of Roberta's wedding room with her beloved groom
A white rose in mamma's old kitchen
Yellow roses on my tomb that my guys bring to me the days after and after
The black roses that have been burning in my heart and mind.

Or maybe no sun at all. A stormy windy morning of the summer of July.