Visitors

"That was terrible, holy shit," Matt says, falling to the floor. 

"Now you can write about it," Scott says. 

"This feels interesting actually...No. I don't even want to write about it - yet, anyway" Matt says. "I want a shot!"

Matt rolls over and knocks into the chair with wheels. The chair rolls a little. The box fan rattles a little. 

Scott's eyes widen. Matt and Scott's eyes connect visions. Scott moves his eyes around, then Matt does too. 

"Shots!" Matt says. 

Matt and Scott don't find any liquor in the kitchen and Matt goes to his landlord for some, who forces the bottle into his hand grudgingly. 

"Don't keep me up," the landlord says with close-cropped eyes.

Matt swallows a shot of gin and says "This all feels really good... man, I feel alive, bro," into the medium-space, before the off-white wall. 

Matt registers each of his reactions to the outside world as individual feelings, glowing distinctly in his chest. Hands scooping the circumference of color-coded orbs. He resigns knowing the despair will soak into his flesh and pours another shot.

"You're doing a good job," Scott says.

Matt moves his eyes over to Scott's without moving his head, which is fixed over the desk, the bottle and the glasses. 

"They were both just here, right? Did you see them there and hear their voices like I did?" Matt says.

Scott smiles at Matt, wildly a little. His hands in his pockets, tasting gin. He cannot feel any of his own problems directly. Matt touches his finger tips to the desk and begins moving his body rhythmically to the music.