Overall, we had a great time at Jack and Edie's house, besides the occasional nuance in their disposition towards each other, but that's to be expected from dinner parties, events meant to draw people together or divide them as if there's a valley of lava between two guests, but thankfully we did not part so thoroughly, and I think it's safe to say that Lucien, Edie, Jack, and I are all on good terms after that meal.

It's also safe to say that Edie won't be knocking on my door (not ringing the doorbell, of course) at any point in the future, unless it's to deposit kind hearted gifts and not use them as a way to investigate what I've been doing in my new life of metaphysics and falling in love with a fucking librarian, which is beneficial to my raging paranoia who always assumes that people are out to get me and nothing else, but it will be quieted at least a bit by the slack Edie will provide me with after her dinner party, and I will no longer have to worry about cleaning up the apartment for her arrival, allowing it to grow as messy as it needs before it snaps at the borders of a trail to the necessary places like the kitchen or the bedroom or the front door.

So I really think that we gained some benefits by showing up at Jack and Edie's dinner party, whether Lucien can see that or not, and I am so glad that I was able to go without putting up a fight as my companion did in sometimes the subtlest of fashion so as to replicate the politeness of the hosts almost in his trademarked satirical way, and though there's no fruit to be harvested from returning to Jack and Edie's home for another dinner party, their first one was perfect for rebuilding our friendship, and I hope that it will stay like that, in the trees of sweet harmony.

However, Lucien Carr is a man to complain about almost everything, despite professing his love for the universe on a daily basis, and this time his complaint is that the politeness of Jack and Edie's house is clogging up his senses, and returning to a slightly less stuffy place won't help at all, because it's still a confined area where nothing can escape, and I really have no idea what he means by any of this, but he has suggested visiting the park, so if that works for him, than I'm all for it, I guess.

The nature is extremely pleasant as well, with the birds still flitting around the park like they're greeting every guest who stops by, even in the sharp wintertime of Paterson, New Jersey and rather all of New England, the patrons strolling along without a care in the world, those worries having been put off until they reach their home again and slump to the door in realization like Lucien and I eventually will, the crunch of crimson and vermilion and canary leaves dried by the fine china of a November chill under our sneakered feet, the weave of our fingers together as they swing through the density of winter with smiles digested by our reddened faces, and whether that's from the sharp air or from the embarrassment of being so close to one another, I have no idea, but it's lovely to be in this environment nevertheless.

I have noticed throughout our friendship that Lucien is absolutely convivial when he's outside at a time when he chooses to be outside. For example, when we walked to the library to find a book for an article whose topic I didn't know but was about to discover, Lucien was twirling across the sidewalk and giggling like the little kid that he is. The location of his travels wasn't all that pleasant, a place where monotony strides through the walls upon walls of knowledge in paper form without a single riot against it, yet Lucien was terribly jovial when he was venturing there. As people preach in their car commercials in order to sound inspirational, it's not the destination but the journey along the way that matters the most, which is only true for humans who believe that one option is absolute and the other option is inherently inferior to the alternate, but Lucien strives to be apart from the masses of humans, so he of course enjoys both the journey and the destination, absorbing it all as they come to him and as they wind through the pristinely golden threads upon his head like they're meant to be there, and Lucien views them as such.

A sigh traipses out of Lucien's lungs, huffed out by an over exaggerated shrugging of the shoulders, and as he spins around once along the sidewalk, he marvels, "Isn't the world just so enchanting?"

Lucien Carr is one of the most confusing people I've ever met, and sometimes that's not a unique trait that we all ponder in awe, rather a trait that twists our minds into bewilderment. When he's in nature, he claims that the world is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, because it is everything all at once. In his writing, he claims that the world is the root of all evil towards the troubled and towards those who have questioned the film of ignorance placed upon their peers' hoods, though the world may be a less controversial term for the snatches of society. Both are somehow true, and both contribute to the labyrinthine character of my companion, and both are so freaking strange.

But Lucien isn't a man to leave me alone if I don't answer a question that I can't, always pestering me to find a way to dig up the correct information to solve the equation, but I've found through a week of living with him that he can be easily deflected by a short comment of agreement every now and then, so that's what I offer, though a bit sarcastically, I must confess. "Just lovely."

"Don't be so sardonic, Allen," Lucien jests, only providing me with a second of attention before he adjusts his vision on the more extraordinary parts of the world, as in far from me, although he's probably blinded by how much more extraordinary I am than those other parts of the world, obviously.

"I'll be as sardonic as I please until you stop being so pretentious."

Yet another sigh somersaults out of his lungs, but on this occasion, he's mocking the kind of strife located on velvet chairs and opulence. "Then we'll be here for a while."

We'll be here for a while no matter what, because once you engage Lucien in something he enjoys, he won't split from it until someone practically drags him from it, but even then he'll put up a formidable fight that makes one question whether or not they really should've opposed him, so when you think about it, I can do whatever I wish, and we'll still be in this godforsaken park forever, as Lucien is the complete opposite of a wine paired with compliance, and we'll only depart when he turns to my wearied self, limbs strewn across a park bench as he dances in front of my slouching form, and claims that the park is now boring after multiple hours of dwelling here, when it became boring within the first half hour.

"Good thing there are facilities for you," Lucien adds, referencing something that I am not cognizant of until I finally see a horrid sight that I'm offended he even mentioned.

Once I glance at the row of portable toilets stacked against a black wire fence by the sidewalk and the other buildings, which is a terrible location for them, anyone must admit, the urge to utilize them is overwhelming, having gone directly to bed after returning from Jack and Edie's dinner party. I have always detested portable toilets for being so dirty and for never demanding the hygienic attention it deserves, but they're somewhat of a safe haven when you're exploding.

I nudge my companion, who is deeply invested in the allure of nature and is difficult to wake, but when he finally snaps to his senses, I murmur, "Hey, Lucien, I need to go to the bathroom."

Muscling a brow up his forehead, Lucien points to the dingy line of portable toilets in disgust. "In one of those things?"

I roll my eyes and glue my hands to my hips impatiently, comprehending that portable toilets are both a reluctant blessing and an ineluctable scourge upon this earth but requiring them anyway. "Yeah, well it's the only option, so I'm stuck with it."

"All right," Lucien shrugs, assembling his hands in the air as a gesticular defense. "Have fun or something."

The idea of fun is far from the portable toilets' goals, so I nudge him once more to shove that into my companion's limited cognition, this time more forcefully than before, and stalk off towards the sordid lineup of mundane torture chambers while Lucien settles on the nearest bench to wait for me, which I appreciate more than anyone else would, because I understand that he'd rather continue walking and exploring all that nature has to offer, but I presume he didn't sit down for me, rather for the opportunity to glimpse one scene meticulously.

And that's all going well for the magnificent Lucien Carr, as life mostly is when he separates his mind from the hell that he's created to better understand how the world functions, except there's a shift in the atmosphere, a shift that only he can detect but a shift that is enormous nevertheless, and all of the sudden there's a person in front of him that he hasn't seen for years, and all of the sudden he's drowning.

~~~~~

A/N: I usually never use cliffhangers because this is all shit anyway but here you go

secularism: church and state should be different

~Dakotainted